If Horses Could Write Diaries
by Lousylark
Summary: A restless spirit finds peace only when it finds love. Minori/Klaus, but, be warned, it's from the perspective of a horse.
1. Chapter 1

**IF HORSES COULD WRITE DIARIES**

 _MinoriXKlaus, but it's also kind of just about a horse. I can't wait till my future kids ask my biggest accomplishment and I can tell them "well you see, one time I wrote a lame farming-simulation-game fanfiction from the perspective of a sassy horse." What can I say? I'm just…horsing around._

 _Expect updates frequently; I'm almost done writing it._

 _(Part 1/9)_

* * *

Elise is a mess.

Her endless stream of servants (or should I say adoring fans?) think she's got it all together, but the truth is she can't handle anything on her own. She can't figure out how to wash the dirt stains out of her clothes, let alone how to tame a wild horse.

The first week she spent a couple of early mornings in the stables trying to get the other horses to at least recognize her. A few of the soft ones, like Lenny, who can't resist a human with big eyes, took to her real fast.

Bessie feels bad for her — she says Elise is lonely, and we should do our best to make her feel relaxed around us. How Elise could be lonely is beyond me, though, since she has all these goofy servants walking around.

Speaking of which, someone new tried to milk Bessie before she had her fill of fodder for the morning and Bessie kicked the girl in the shin. So much for being welcoming.

Anyway, I'm the prettiest horse in the stable. Elise knows that, and she wanted to try flaunting it off to the rest of the town. So, a couple of days ago, she took me out on a ride with Rick, the stall-keeper, around the farm. It didn't last long. I might've let her pretend to be a real princess a little longer if she hadn't insisted on wearing such awful shoes. I mean, I'm a big horse, I'm pretty resilient, but she was wearing these little white shoes with massive (and pokey!) heels, so I wasn't about to just subject myself to such nuisances.

All it took was one poke from those dainty shoes and I reared back far enough that she fell off — straight into a pile of cow dung. That last part was unintentional, I swear (after all, I may be strong-spirited but I'm not a completely awful equestrian being), though I'll admit it was quite amusing seeing her have to wipe Bessie's late-night fodder binge from under her eyes.

Needless to say, she wasn't happy. She walked into the stable with Rick yesterday and angrily pointed at me several times. No clue what she said, but it was nothing good judging by her expression. At least, nothing good for _her_. Maybe I'll end up home free after all.  
Anywhere's better than this stall.

* * *

By some miracle (or maybe a curse — I haven't decided yet), I have a new owner.

Early this morning the stable door slid open and and in walked Rick, right on time as usual — except some small human girl was following her.  
I couldn't see her very well in the dim light, except for the fact that she had a red cloth covering some of her hair and big hazel eyes.

She asked Rick a question, he nodded, and then she came straight up to my stall and started rubbing my nose and saying something in a soft voice.  
I pulled away, of course. It wasn't like she was offensive in any way, or that she was repulsive. In fact, she smelled like grass, hay, and dirt — my favorite smells — and, even though she wasn't as well put-together as Elise, she was pretty in a different, homier sort of way. But I _hate_ being pet, and I _hate_ being treated like some sort of domestic animal. I'm a horse, not a dog.

She wasn't deterred, though. She just smiled at me like I was pulling a joke, and then turned back to Rick and handed him a crate full of the canisters I had seen the servants use to hold Bessie's milk.

Great. So I'm worth a few bottles of milk, and that's it. Good to know.

Rick handed her a bridle and a blanket in return. Then he said a couple of things, and she laughed, and then they stood there and talked for so long that I thought I was going to lose my mind just waiting for them to finish.

The sunlight coming through the stable door eventually got bright enough that I could make out more of what the girl looked like. She definitely could have benefited from some of Elise's facials — her nose was sunburned like a cherry tomato. The rest of her skin was blotchy at best. A trail of freckles went under her eyes and across her nose like a bridge over a river, and she had a dirt mark near her temple that looked distinctly like three fingers pushing back the kerchief from her forehead.

I snorted impatiently. That drew their attention back toward me, finally, and the girl said a short thank you before opening my stall to let me out.

By that point, I had caught on to what was going to happen, and I wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste. As soon as the stall door was fully open, I _bolted_ past the girl and Rick, and squeezed through the opening of the stable door — home free. Rick and the girl cried out from back in the stable, but I ignored them.

The exit to Elise's farm was easy to find, since I had been staring at it from the pasture every day for at least a season. A couple of servants had to jump out of my way as I galloped down the cobblestone path. One girl dropped her basket of apples, and there was a split second where I thought about eating all of them before she could pick them up but then I realized that would probably cost me my freedom (and my lovely equestrian figure).

The pathway out of the farm was long, even for me. I threw my head back to check over my shoulder, but neither Rick nor the girl, nor any of the servants, for that matter, were following me. They were all probably too shocked. And, hey, I might've been, too, if I were that dull in the head.

But then — then, well, something weird happened.

I made it past the borders of Elise's farm, and the road suddenly turned from cobblestone into something else I hadn't seen for a while: brick. It took me by surprise, so much so that my footing got tripped up. I broke my gallop and turned to a trot, thinking it would still be fast enough, but then I almost ran into something — a big flower pot.

And at my left, a building I'd never seen. At my right, there were three other paths, and then further ahead there was something that looked like a slanted cliff with bits of rock jutting out from it. A human was walking up those rocks — he was old, older than any of the farm workers, and he had silvery white hair and a hunched back.

The old man let out a cry of surprise when he saw me, and then he called over his shoulder toward another human. This one was much younger — she had baby blue eyes and short brown hair. She was smaller than all of the little servant girls that I thought were so puny on Elise's farm.

I took a step backwards and neighed. All of the activity around me was a little overwhelming — people were gathering from seemingly nowhere to see Elise's "runaway horse," the one they had indubitably already heard a lot about since I was the best (and most troublesome) one on Elise's farm.

I kept taking steps backward until my back foot hit the cobblestone again, and by the time I finally had my wits enough about me to realize that I needed to run or else I'd never be free, a hand flashed underneath my neck and put a rope inside the metal clasp in my harness.

It was the girl from before. Rick was about ten steps behind, carrying the bridle and the blanket.

I tugged against the lead rope, hoping that I might pull free, but the girl was a lot stronger than I expected her to be. Not only that, but about six other people came forward to help hold on until I "calmed down" — at least, that's what they kept thinking I would do.

And I guess I did, eventually. Not because I was actually calm, but because it was getting annoying trying to fight against something so frustratingly futile.  
Once all of the people left, the girl gave me a pat on the neck (I pulled away as best I could), and started walking me through the town on a short lead. I wouldn't have admitted it if any of the animals back at Elise's had asked, but I was kind of glad she was there, for the time being. If she could get me out of the town, I could sneak away from her and run to the forest. I just had to know where I was going, first.

She ended up leading me through a mountain trail all the way back to her farm. At first I was excited, because we got so far out in the sticks that I thought she was going to end up letting me go. But then I saw a building in the distance and realized I was just heading toward another stable.

The funny part is that there are a bunch of crops on this girl's property, kind of like Elise — only this girl has way more grass, and a much smaller house, and not as many animals.

But still, an owner is an owner, and as soon as I find a way, I'm getting out of here.

* * *

 _(My prologues are always short - sorry.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_(Part 2/9. Klaus appears.)_

* * *

Her name is Minori.

At least, that's what her cow, Hanako, told me. Hanako hasn't been here long, either — apparently she used to live at the neighboring farm until about half a season ago. She's older than Bessie and Elise's other cows by a few years, so she's more relaxed and level-headed.

It's just Hanako and I in the barn. No stalls, no specific feed troughs. Minori comes in every day at the crack of dawn to get Hanako's milk and brush her. Then she walks over to me and does that stupid nose-rubbing business before giving me a solid brushing, as well. I'll admit, I don't mind the brushing. I only got brushed once or twice a week at Elise's farm, and they would use the prickly combs. Minori uses something softer, rubbery, so it's actually kind of relaxing.

The best part of the day, though, is when she lets Hanako and I out to graze. _All day._

We stay out there from dawn until just before nightfall. I don't have a lot of space in the confines of the fence, but it's a lot more than if there were twenty other horses sharing it with me. Hanako is pretty content to just munch on grass and take naps in the shade of some nearby oak trees, and I'm alright with building my strength up, too, for now.

Other than taking care of us in the morning and bringing us in at night, Minori pretty much leaves us alone. That doesn't mean she doesn't work, though. She spends the first half of every day working in the fields and clearing the land. Unlike Elise, she isn't afraid to get her hands dirty. In fact, she seems to _like_ all the work. She whistles while she waters the crops, which can get kind of annoying when I'm just trying to mind my own business, but she makes up for it when she brings apples to us in the evening.

I'm not really sure where she goes for the rest of the day. Usually around noon she stops inside her house and stays in there for a few minutes, and then comes out looking a lot cleaner and with a lot fuller of a backpack. Then she leaves the farm, on foot, and comes back in a few hours. Sometimes she'll go over to Hanako's old owner's farm, and disappear that way. And other times she comes back soaked to the skin and smelling like river water. Plain gross, if you ask me.

Today, though, she didn't leave the farm around noon like usual. Instead, once she was all cleaned up from her morning chores, she lugged a saddle out of the stable and plopped it on the ground at my feet.

One look between the two of us and I knew that she knew that there was no way I was about to let her put a saddle on me. I snorted and turned around, swishing my tail in her face in the process.

But then, as I was walking toward the oak trees, Hanako gave me this look, like I had just disobeyed all of the rules of being a horse. She started mooing incessantly, telling me to _just try it._ Eventually it got so annoying that I stopped in my tracks, snorted again, and turned back toward Minori. She was staring at me with her head tilted to one side, a small smile on her lips like she was asking permission.

Well, it was better than Elise had ever treated me, I'll give her that. (Then again, who knows if Elise even knows how to treat a horse — or any animal, for that matter.) I shook my mane and then dipped my head to sniff at the saddle. It was old and musty — smelled like bugs with a trace of rotting wood and dog urine.

I reared back, neighing. Minori only giggled at my response, but that's because she didn't have to smell the blasted thing. I dug one of my hooves into the ground and shook my head, hoping she would understand that I was _not_ about to let her put that thing on my back.

Obviously she didn't get it, because she lifted up the saddle, getting it ready. I pushed her arms away with my nose, neighing in protest. She only laughed again, ignoring my discomfort and trying to get the saddle up to my flank.

I did the only thing I knew to do: I bolted. Again. There was a little dip in the fence where two of the rungs didn't quite match up, and it was just low enough that I could clear it with a single jump. I reared up and then pushed past Minori. She fell to the ground. It took about six paces, and then I jumped over the fence.

I galloped toward the exit of the farm. It wasn't the _exact_ escape plan I had been considering — I had wanted to stick around a little longer to gather my strength — but it worked.

That is, until I looked over my shoulder and saw that Minori still hadn't gotten up after I had knocked her over.

My gallop slowed to a trot, and then a walk — and then I stopped altogether and turned to face the pasture.

Hanako was staring at me again. Her eyes were soft, pensive. She was waiting to see what I would do. Stupid cow.

Well, Minori had given me pretty good food and shelter for a few days, so I started back toward the pasture, though not without some reluctance. I hopped over the fence again and came to a stop next to her limp body. Was she dead?

No, her eyes were open. She was staring at the sky. The usual bright hazel color of her irises were glazed over with tears. A single droplet of water trailed down her cheek, and she sniffled.

I wondered if I had hurt her, and that was why she was crying, but then she brushed her hand across her nose and started to get up. Without looking at me, she left the saddle on the grass and started toward the gate, arms wrapping around her abdomen in a lame self-hug.

I looked at Hanako. Hanako looked at me. Cows can't shrug like humans can, but she seemed to be about as befuddled as I was.

Wanting to catch up with the girl, I started at a trot toward the gate. She stopped when she heard me approaching, though, and turned to face me. After wiping some tears from her eyes, she removed the red kerchief from her head and wrung it in her hands.

She said some things that I didn't understand, but her tone of voice was clear: she was definitely sad about something. Maybe it was me. Maybe it wasn't. Somehow I got this feeling that I was just the breaking point. Elise had never cried, not even when she got dumped in cow dung. This had to be something bigger.

I dug one of my hooves into the ground and snorted. Minori looked at me, and then, slowly, raised a hand to rub my nose.

I didn't pull away. It wasn't comfortable, and I didn't lean in to her, but I let her have the small comfort that I wouldn't run away this time. From the other side of the pasture, Hanako closed her eyes and lowered her head, content.

* * *

Minori bought another cow.

Her name is Daisy. She's a big bovine, just had her first calf about a season ago, and she's got all the spunk that I miss when I think about Bessie. Daisy can get pretty restless at night, so sometimes it's hard to sleep. And the barn is a hair more cramped than it used to be, but I think Hanako has enjoyed having someone besides grumpy old me to keep her company.

Speaking of company, Minori's also working on some sort of building. It's smaller than the barn, but situated right next to it in the pasture. She's been at it for a week or so now, and everyday the big man that I saw during my first time in town comes and gives her a few pointers. And by pointers, I mean _pointers_ — as in, he points at a spot she did wrong, and makes her rip it up and do it all over again. It's hard work, but she's tough.

It's starting to get really hot outside. And it rains every so often. The worst days of my captivity are the rainy ones, because I have to spend them in the barn. But when it's sunny and Minori goes to town, I like to jump over the dip in the fence and have full freedom to walk around the farm.

That's given me the chance to make comparisons between Minori's farm and Elise's farm. Minori's farm is a little smaller, but it feels bigger. The land isn't crowded with cobblestone and a giant house, so that helps. Minori treats her land well, and she does it with her own two hands. Her crops thrive and we, her animals, are content — so her effort shows.

Just goes to show how awful Elise was. The more I think about it, the more I can hardly believe that Bessie thinks Elise is lonely. I never see Minori with any other humans, and Elise had all of those servants. Minori is the lonely one, yet here she has a farm more fluid and successful than Elise's will ever be.  
But I can't stay here. It's impossible, not with the sun shining overhead, tempting me to find even bigger fields.

So, today, when I hopped over the little dip in the fence, I started toward the exit of the farm once again. Hanako was probably watching me, but if I looked back she would've stopped me with a single blink.

Minori's farm ends at a break in her fencing system. Passing that felt like breaking through a big threshold. I started at a gallop, neighing with delight as the trees blurred into curtains of green —

And then, _again_ , came to an abrupt halt, because who else was waiting in the mountain area than Minori.

But she wasn't alone. With her stood a tall man with hair the color of soot. He wore an evergreen waistcoat — and he looked way too refined to even be near Minori. (No offense to her. She's cute, but messy.)

They were crouched together on the ground. I couldn't see right away what they were looking at, but once I shifted my angle a little, I saw that the tall man was holding his hand out to a rabbit, white as the clouds. It was nibbling some food from the man's hand.

I snorted. What a softie. You'd think some of the animals around here would show a bit more resistance.

Unfortunately, Minori heard my snort, and I ended up blowing my own cover. She glanced up and saw me. Surprise painted her features for a moment, and then she laughed and said something, like a greeting. The man looked over his shoulder and appeared very confused.

As they conversed, presumably about the sudden presence of her horse (maybe he didn't know she had one — after all, it's not like she rides me around town), I debated whether or not to cut my losses and bolt. But before I could reach a good decision, Minori stood up, wiped her hands on her apron, and motioned for the man in the evergreen coat to follow her.

I could smell the man before he got within a five foot radius. He was wearing cologne — and a lot of it, which either meant he was wealthy (like Elise) or that he was interested in Minori and wanted to smell nice for her. It was definitely a pungent scent, but it was calmer than the saddle that smelled like dog pee, so at least there was that.

Minori rubbed my nose in greeting. I didn't pull away, but I didn't respond. The man also rubbed my nose — this time, I did pull away. Minori was one person, he was another. He also smelled suspiciously pleasant, like a mix of lavender and something more manly — but even though it was pleasant, I didn't want that smell on me the whole night.

Then, I realized something kind of strange. The evergreen man knew his way around horses. He had yet to stand in one of my blind spots — something that, as a horse amateur, Minori wasn't very good at. He also stepped around in a big circle to get a good look at me — which sounds creepy, but I could tell he was professional because he kept a hand on my flank the entire time so that I knew where he was without looking.

I shifted my weight a little, finally shrugging his hand off of my shoulder. Minori and the man talked and laughed a little more, but I eventually pushed past them to head back toward the farm. Minori didn't even notice.

My escape, it seemed, would have to wait until another day.


	3. Chapter 3

_Part 3/9._

* * *

About a week after my attempted escape, I was out in the field at sunset with Hanako and Daisy when the evergreen-coat-man made another appearance.

He and Minori appeared together at the end of the path leading into the farm, two dots that grew bigger and bigger as they approached. I could see something white and feathery in Minori's arms — a chicken. So she was planning to use the building next to the barn as a coop. That cleared that up.

The man was also carrying something — a big, brown sack, and, from the way he had both of his arms wrapped tightly around the middle, it must have been heavy. Far too heavy for Minori to carry all by herself. Well, he was smelly, but at least he was a gentleman.

They got to the pasture and Minori opened the gate for the man. He stepped inside, and I immediately started walking toward the far end of the field, snorting. I didn't want anything to do with him. He reminded me of Elise, somehow.

Hanako's ears perked up as she watched the two walk past. I caught snippets of their conversation — not that any of it made sense, but they both laughed a lot.

So he was definitely wearing the cologne so that he smelled nice for her. Gross.

Hanako and Daisy thought they were cute, though. I could tell by the way that they watched the couple enter the chicken coop with wide, thoughtful eyes. Daisy swished her tail back and forth a few times before letting out a loud, good-natured moo, almost like a well-wish to our owner. I just folded my ears back and munched on some more grass.

They stayed in the coop for a long time, long enough that the sun started dipping below the trees. I couldn't hear much noise from the building, other than the occasional bout of laughter and the squawking of the new chicken. Hopefully, for my beauty sleep's sake, she would calm down at nightfall.

Minori must have eventually realized that she needed to herd the rest of us inside, because she came out of the chicken coop, the man two steps behind. His evergreen coat was gone; instead, his long white sleeves had been rolled up to the elbows, his hair was mussier, and he looked — well, younger, and by a few years. I was starting to see why Minori giggled so much around him, even if his smell was overpowering. At least he had helped her get all that chicken feed into the storage.

Minori gave Hanako a light push on the rump to get her moving toward the barn. The man started making his way over to me, and my ears folded again. His eyes were gentle, almost reminiscent.

He reached out a hand to stroke my nose. I snorted and pulled away. He only laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It made him look younger. And then he reached out to touch me yet again.

Do humans never learn?

Minori was too busy getting Daisy inside to notice what was going on, so this time I shoved him hard enough that he had to take a pace backwards to keep his footing.

Except, when he stepped back, his heel hit a rock that was jutting out of the grass — one that I'd stubbed my own hoof on too many times to count — and he plunged straight to the ground. His arms flailed in a way that reminded me of Elise falling into the cow dung. Well, at least there was no dung around to ruin that nice green vest of his.

Minori heard his shout and immediately ran over to help the man up. I wondered for a moment if he was going to tell her what I did, but he was — _laughing_ , of all things, and instead of getting angry he just dusted off his pants and said something that made Minori smile like a little kid getting a toy.

After that she walked the man to the entrance of the farm, standing on her tiptoes to wave goodbye and wish him well. He made his way down the path, green coat folded over one of his arms like the napkin of a waiter in a fancy restaurant. I watched from my spot by an oak tree, shaking my mane in annoyance. Minori had forgotten to herd me back inside.

At least, that's what I assumed. When she came back to the pasture, she rubbed my nose as usual (and, as usual, I neither leaned into her nor pulled away). She walked into the barn and came out a few seconds later with my lead rope, and I wondered what she had in mind.  
She attached the lead to my neck, and I was curious enough to follow her toward the crop field without complaint. She also had a bucket, and a brush, and a solid rectangle of something white with purple flecks in it.

We stopped next to the well that she gets water from, and I realized that she was planning to give me a bath. Well, I wouldn't object. It had been especially hot today, now that we were at the peak of summer, and my mane was starting to feel pretty gross.

I found out the the odd rectangular white substance was actually soap — and very _pungent_ soap; it smelled like lavender. I wondered if the man in the evergreen coat had given it to her, since he always smelled like _man_ with that hint of lavender — but getting a good scrub felt so good that I didn't have the energy to get cranky about it.

Minori was good at brushing, and good at bathing, too. By the time we were done I was half asleep, I was so content. It suddenly occurred to me that if I run away, I wouldn't have someone to bathe me like this.

I pondered that as Minori tugged me back toward the barn. The sun had finally set, and the fireflies started peeping out here and there. Minori sighed, though she sounded more content than sad, and for a second I remembered the day where she tried putting the saddle on me and she started crying. Thankfully, it seemed we'd moved beyond that.

She finally let me into the barn, and I joined Hanako in our usual sleeping spot — right near the window, so I can look out as I fall asleep and Hanako can get a little bit of a breeze if she gets too hot.

Then, Hanako provided me with an interesting piece of knowledge: she thinks the man's name is Klaus.

When I asked her how she knew, she said she picked it up several times during their conversations today. That's how she picks up everyone's names. I guess cows can be smarter than we assume — though Hanako has always been the brighter of the bunch.

Still, _Klaus_. What a weird name. Fitting, I guess.

But I was clean and content and tired, so I stopped thinking about men with evergreen coats and lonely girls and decided to fall asleep, instead.

* * *

Well, what a day.

This morning, Minori came into the barn at the crack of dawn, like always. Except she brought someone with her.

Hanako's ears perked up as soon as the barn door opened. Then, she stood, stretched her legs, and immediately let out a moo that sounded like recognition. I watched as she moseyed on over to the entrance of the bar and nudged the lady that stood next to Minori. From her gray hair and plump frame, I knew it had to be Eda, Hanako's old owner.

Hanako nudged Eda until the little old lady started laughing and rubbed her ears affectionately. Minori looked happy to see them reunited, and I was suddenly scared that she was going to let Hanako go back to Eda's farm.

But then Minori and Eda started making their way toward _me_. Well, I might not exactly adore captivity, but I'd rather stick with Minori than have to get another owner. When Minori hooked the lead rope up, I tugged against it, not wanting to have to leave the barn. But Hanako seemed to trust Eda enough to follow the old lady outside, so I finally let Minori lead me to the pasture.

The grass was still dewey, but I knew the intense summer sun would evaporate it soon enough. Minori led me over to the part of the fence where the two rungs didn't line up — the very part that I had jumped over countless times during my stay here.

Eda followed soon after. The two women stood near me and talked for a bit, Eda pointing at various parts of my body every so often and nodding at the things that Minori said. She shook her head once or twice. I felt like I was getting evaluated, somehow.

Then, the _weirdest_ thing happened. Eda, who must be at least sixty years old if not more, suddenly put her foot on the first rung of the sagging fence. She climbed up the second rung, and, before I could register what was happening, slung her left leg over my side and hoisted herself up onto my back. And there she sat, like some sort of queen instead of an at-least-sixty-year-old woman.

It was…uncomfortable, to say the least, but her legs were gentle against my flank and at least we weren't using a saddle. She said a few things to Minori from her position on my back, and then, grabbing a fistful of mane at the bottom of my neck, squeezed her legs around my stomach.

I obeyed, walking forward. I think the only reason I didn't hesitate was because Hanako was watching me from under the oak tree with squinty eyes, as if she didn't trust me with her previous owner sitting atop my back with nothing to grab onto except her legs and my mane. And, to be honest, maybe I didn't trust myself, either.

We walked the perimeter of the pasture. I was anxious the whole time, looking for stones or dips in the ground that I had to avoid so that poor little Eda wouldn't fly off of me if I tripped. Minori and Eda talked, and I realized that Eda was giving Minori advice.

Maybe this was the only reason Minori had given me that bath the day before. I felt a little betrayed, for some reason. I thought she had did it to strengthen our bond or whatever, not so that Eda wouldn't have to deal with all of the dirt in my mane. Not that Eda, who really was quite gentle, didn't deserve a clean horse, but I do have feelings.

Once we made an entire lap around the fence, Eda gently tugged my mane so that I knew to stop. She staggered a big when she made her way down, but Minori was there to catch her, and I felt a little wave of admiration for my owner. She was nice, when it came down to it.

I think Minori offered to give Eda some tea or a snack, because she pointed back toward her house, but Eda refused. They exchanged a few short words, and then Eda waddled her way back to her own farm — leaving Hanako and myself here, much to my relief.

Minori was looking at me funny. Her arms were crossed, and she had her head tilted to on side. I swished my tail.

Then, Minori climbed the rungs of the fence herself, and hopped onto my back. She nearly lost it the first time, sliding partway down my flank, but she caught one of the rungs with her legs and used it to push herself up again. She was strong enough to get herself on my back, then. Not bad.

She grabbed a fistful of my mane, as Eda had taught her, but she wasn't as gentle. I shifted my weight and she nearly fell off just from _that_. I shook my head; this was going to be pointless. She had obviously never ridden a horse, or, at least, hadn't ridden one frequently.

Still, Minori was nothing if not determined. She squeezed me with her legs and I made my way forward, slow enough that she could find a rhythm but not as cautiously as I did with Eda. I might have stepped on a couple of stones on purpose, just to make sure she was paying attention to her balance.

We went a couple of laps around the pasture, but the sun was rising, it was hot, and I was bored. So, the next time we were about to pass the dip in the fence, I shrugged my shoulders as a warning of sorts (which, okay, she probably didn't understand), picked up speed, and hopped over the fence.

Minori, much to her credit, managed to stay on, though not without a yelp of surprise or maybe pain when we landed on the other side. She also lurched to one side, but, again, the strength of her arms and legs after all of that farming allowed her to maintain a decent hold.

I took it up another notch. I knew from the servants' whining on Elise's farm that no one liked trotting bareback, so I started across her farm at a gallop, instead. Minori shouted in surprise again, and then started mumbling things — whether to herself or me, I couldn't tell — but her mumblings turned into a river of words that increased in volume, and then —

— and then she _yanked_ on my mane, so hard that I reared back violently, kicking my two front legs up in the air.

Minori tumbled to the ground. My legs landed back on the grass with a solid _thud_ , and I was inexplicably angry at her for stopping me until I realized that we had just been about to hit a bolder that I had completely missed.

Still, I neighed and tossed my mane, upset. Minori lifted her head off of the ground, rubbing at her eyes. She wasn't crying, but she didn't look happy, either. In fact, once she finished getting the dust out of her eyes she put her head in her hands and groaned.

I guess I wasn't the best riding partner out there. But what do you expect from a horse who just wants to run?

Minori finally stood, grabbing my lead rope and tugging me back toward the pasture. But I didn't want to go back there. I was out of the fence for the day. So I stood exactly where I was, ears flattened as far as they could go. Minori might've been strong enough to hold her own weight, but she couldn't pull me as hard as she tried.

Finally, she threw the rope to the ground, turned around, and screamed at me. I mean, _really_ screamed at me, until she was red in the face and there were tears in her eyes. _Again_ with the tears. She got so loud it hurt my ears, but her voice cracked when she reached a certain word, and then, without saying anything else, she stormed into her house, rubbing at her eyes furiously.

I could feel Hanako's disproving gaze burning into me from the other side of the farm. I didn't even have to look.


	4. Chapter 4

_(Part 4/9)_

* * *

By the time morning rolled around I was feeling pretty guilty about what happened with Minori.

She'd been taking good care of me, after all. Maybe I shouldn't have been so eager to jump the fence. Hanako says I should've been more concerned with Minori's safety than my own desire to run. (Like, jeez, does she think she's a philosopher?)

Minori must have been feeling pretty bad about it, too — after all, she did yell at me a lot — because she brought me two carrots when she came into the barn that morning.

Well, I couldn't give her carrots and I couldn't speak human, but when she rubbed my nose like usual I nudged her in the shoulder instead of simply not reciprocating. She giggled, so I knew I was at least partially forgiven.

After all the chores were done, Minori let me out into the pasture like usual. It was cloudy today — in fact, it almost looked like it was going to rain.  
Well, it was fine by me. I didn't mind a little rain if it meant I got another day of freedom.

Minori ran around the farm as usual, though she skipped some of the watering because of the clouds gathering in the sky. Eda stopped by the end of the path on her way into town and they chatted for a bit, but once the old lady left Minori went back to caring for what looked like the beginnings of a few fruit trees.  
When the first droplets of rain started to fall, I moved so that I was underneath one of the oak trees. The broad leaves would help me stay dry.

That was when Minori walked out of her house in a bright yellow raincoat, all readied up for the day —

— and, instead of heading toward the exit of the farm, headed toward the pasture.

This surprised me. I had figured that, after yesterday, she'd be done trying to mess with me for a while. I guess not.

She hopped over the dip in the fence, stood there for a few seconds, and then whistled. It wasn't her usual whistling-while-watering whistle, though. This one was shorter and higher. It took me a few seconds to realize that she was whistling for _me_.

 _Well_. I wasn't about to just let her be lazy and expect me to go over to her just because she blew some air through her lips. I swished my tail.  
Minori sighed, and it was visible from across the field — her shoulders slumped, and she tilted her head down so that her hair formed a bit of a curtain around her face. That was the first time I noticed that she wasn't wearing her regular red kerchief today, maybe because it would interfere with the hood on her raincoat.

I neighed, and, finally, Minori started making her way over toward my oak tree. I expected her to meet me there, but she stopped halfway across the field and whistled again.

Not happening. I dug my hoof into the dirt.

It was drizzling pretty steadily. Minori sighed again and put up her hood, and then took the last twenty or so paces to meet me under the tree. She walked past me, though, and toward the fence. I finally followed, knowing that there was no way she'd be able to get on my back (assuming she was going to attempt riding me again) without the aid of the pseudo-step-stool.

I positioned myself parallel to the fence. Minori stepped on the first rung, then wobbled a little as she balanced on the top rung. It was harder, I think, because this part of the fence didn't dip like the rungs across the field.

Still, she swung herself onto my back — this time without nearly falling off — and grabbed a fistful of my mane. I felt a little bad because my mane was already getting wet, which made it kind of slippery. But Minori didn't seem to mind, or, at least, she didn't say anything.

She squeezed her legs around my stomach, and I started at a slow walk around the edge of the pasture. I was more hesitant than the day before, watching out for stones and dips in the ground like I had with Eda.

Once we got to the gate, instead of keeping to the fence, Minori tugged my mane to the right as a signal to leave the pasture. I tossed my head to one side, making sure she knew what she was doing, and she only tugged again.

Well, alright, then. So we got outside the pasture, and then Minori steered me onto the path leading straight out of the farm.

Things were about to get interesting. I hadn't been outside the confines of her farm since the day I'd tried running away and run into her and Klaus in the mountain area. It wasn't like I knew the area. I felt a little uncertainty gnaw at the bottom of my stomach. Hopefully she knew where we were going, because I sure didn't.

But we made it outside the farm alright, and even down the slope of the mountain area without any troubles. We got into a solid rhythm, and I picked up the pace to a bit of a working walk instead of the lazy stroll I'd been keeping. Minori swayed to my footsteps, leaning back on the downslopes and forward on the upslopes so I didn't lose balance, and I was grateful.

Being outside the farm was nice, to say the least. We made it past the mountain area and I was amazed to find that there were more fences with more crops and an entire _river_ just southwest of Minori's farm. I wondered if this farm belonged to another person, but I didn't see any houses or barns. Maybe it wasn't a crop field; maybe people just built fences around wild plants?

That didn't make sense, but we kept trudging along. The ground was getting muddy from the rain; my hooves sank every few steps. Once or twice I got so stuck that I staggered, and I would feel Minori's legs tighten around my stomach and her grip on my mane strengthen. Well, at least she was paying attention.

Eventually we passed into another area where the river kept going but the fields disappeared. The rain was falling earnestly, now. There was a moment where Minori's hands left my mane so that she could slide the hood of her jacket over her hair. I shook my mane while she did this, and the flying droplets of residual water mixed with the rain.

Minori still hadn't told me to go yet. She was messing with the zipper of her jacket, her legs wrapped around my torso but my mane still free of her grip. I stomped one foot into the ground impatiently, and then —

— and then, suddenly, out of no where, a giant _bang_ sounded in the sky. Thunder.

My heart stuttered, and I couldn't help it: I reared backwards.

The second it happened, I felt simultaneous waves of anger, both toward myself, for being skittish, and toward Minori, for her not having her hands on my mane. Because, of course, as soon as I kicked up my front legs, she slid backwards.

There were a few frantic seconds where she clawed at my back, and I did my best to try and get myself under control and assist her at the same time, but it didn't work. Instead of helping, my lurching to one side caused the girl to topple to the ground.

Before I could react much, I heard someone to the left shout Minori's name.

Running down the path from the town was none other than Klaus. He had a big black umbrella, but he cast it to the side when he saw Minori fall. He ran toward us with long, worried strides — only now did I realize how tall he actually was; he had to be at least six inches taller than Minori.

He seemed to reach us in the span of a heartbeat, not long enough for Minori to get herself off the —

— and then thunder sounded again, and I neighed loud enough to wake any unfortunate sleeping person within a mile radius. Klaus turned his attention from Minori to me, using his hands and pushing one of them to my neck and the other to my flank.

The presence of his touch was more calming than I thought it would be — his hands were sure, controlled — and I submitted myself to him, ducking my head toward the ground. I nearly bumped Minori in the process, and only then did I notice that she had rain in her eyes.

Or tears, I guess. Klaus noticed this, too, because he was on the ground next to her in a second. His words were frantic and low — too low for me to even guess what he was saying — but if I had to assume, I'd bet he was asking her if she was okay.

To which she propped herself up on one elbow, and then the other, and then placed a foot on the ground — and then finally got herself into a standing position, her yellow hood halfway off of her head.

She wasn't hurt, then. Just scared.

Klaus was scared, too.

He started shouting at Minori, giving her what I assume was a firm reprimanding for taking her horse out during a thunderstorm. And, hey, I'll admit, it was kind of dumb — but Minori wasn't usually dumb, so maybe she hadn't known the forecast would turn this bad.

She yelled right back. Klaus said something and then pointed at me angrily, like Elise had a season ago in the stable.

Unexpectedly, Minori moved to stand between Klaus and I. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him, saying something in a voice that sounded

— defensive?

And I felt a rush of affection toward my owner. I couldn't help it. I had thought her obvious puppy love for Klaus would get in the way of her better judgment, but she was clearly taking my side — whatever side that was — in this argument.

At her words, Klaus's face softened. He looked younger again — like he had when his eyes crinkled at the corner two days before. He ran a hand through his hair, and then, in a soft voice, uttered what I'm pretty sure was an apology.

Minori said something back, just as quiet but not quite as apologetic, and then she said a very brisk goodbye to Klaus, grabbed my lead rope, and started walking me back toward the farm. Klaus was left standing in the rain, umbrellaless.

That night, Minori brought me an apple and gave me a thorough brushing. She didn't seem angry, even though I had dumped her on the ground for the second day in a row. Maybe she felt like it was her fault.

She rubbed my nose, and I nudged her shoulder.

I decided right then and there that I was going to do my best to never let her fall from my back again.

* * *

 _Sorry this is shorter. I hadn't quite hit my "length stride" when I wrote this one. More fluff next chapter. Yayyy._


	5. Chapter 5

_(Part 5/9)_

* * *

The air is getting cooler.

Hanako says autumn has started. The trees have only just begun to change color, but the breeze isn't as thick and the afternoons aren't suffocatingly hot.

Minori cut down some of her summer crops, and now the fields seem kind of barren without the tall stalks of corn and tomatoes. Instead, little carrot sprouts have taken their place — I know because I can smell them growing when the afternoon wind is just right. Delicious.

Minori and I have been riding almost every day since the thunderstorm. The only day we didn't go was last week, when it rained and the ground got too slippery for both of us. Instead, she spent the day inside the stable with me, Hanako, Daisy, and Evelyn — her new sheep — doing a deep cleaning. I helped out by keeping her company.

A few days ago, Eda stopped by. She looked thinner than when I last saw her, but she had with her a beautiful black riding helmet. Minori was thrilled — and, to be honest, so was I. It would be a lot less worrisome having Minori on my back, still without a saddle, if she was at least wearing a helmet.

Klaus seemed to support this idea, too. He saw the two of us riding through the mountain area yesterday with Minori wearing the helmet, and we stopped to talk to him for a while. It was the first time I had really seen him since the day of the thunderstorm.

I think he must have said something at least a little hurtful to Minori that day. I can't think of any other reason why they suddenly would have stopped talking. But they were civil enough yesterday.

Today, Minori got a seemingly endless stream of visitors. I knew a couple of them from our rides through the areas on the way to town. The one with the wild red hair was Fritz — he was another farmer to the west. A girl dressed in a nurse's outfit — Angela — also came. Eda stopped by for an hour, but then she got tired and had to go home. Even Elise stopped by, but if she saw me grazing in the field she didn't say or do anything.

All day, Minori welcomed everyone who stopped by her farm. Some of them I couldn't even recall seeing before. Hanako and I finally realized that, from the numerous colorful bags and wrapped boxes they all brought, it had to be Minori's birthday.

It made me realize just how little I knew about Minori's life outside of this farm. But it gradually started to make sense. When the farm work was done and she stopped in town, leaving me to graze the fields by the river, she had to be visiting all these people. They wouldn't have given her gifts otherwise, regardless of whether it was her birthday or not. She had to be friends with all of them. It was admirable, actually.

Late into the evening, when most of the people had gone home and Minori was giving me a bath (which had become a weekly occurrence), Klaus finally stopped by. I knew it was inevitable, since they had a thing for each other, but it was kind of annoying that he just happened to show up when nobody else was there. It was also annoying that Minori abruptly stopped bathing me and dropped the brush into a bucket of water, so half of my coat was wet and the other was dry.  
I snorted as she walked away. Stupid humans and their stupid human crushes.

Well, I watched Klaus with a cautious eye. I still hadn't quite forgiven him for yelling at Minori a few days before.

But, just like all the other visitors, he pulled a colorful box out of seemingly nowhere for my owner. It was wrapped in blue paper — and Minori wore a lot of blue, so I suspect it's her favorite color — and had a silver ribbon tied at the top. Definitely one of the nicer ones she had been given that day, considering Fritz's had been "wrapped" in brown construction paper and scotch tape.

After Klaus gave the traditional "it's-your-birthday" speech, Minori gently untied the ribbon from the box. Since it was so pretty (and Minori is sentimental, so she probably wanted to save it), she ended up tying the ribbon at the bottom of her long braid for safekeeping. What a flirt.

Then, painfully slowly (since, you know, I was really anticipating whatever he got her), she started to unwrap the gift. First came the lovely baby blue paper, then, equally carefully, she took the lid off of the little black box.

Inside, there was a glass bottle filled with liquid. She took it out with dainty hands and looked at it with wide eyes.

I could tell from the breathy tone of her next statement that she was amazed at the gift. It was the nicest thing she had gotten all day.

She looked at Klaus with big eyes, the same eyes she sometimes looked at me and the rest of her animals with — they showed total adoration.

I wanted to barf a little. Humans are so gross.

Klaus smiled, a little bashful at how much she liked the gift. He waved a hand toward her arm, and she nodded, taking the glass bottle and spritzing it onto the inside of her wrist.

Oh, great. It was perfume. I was going to have to smell Klaus's perfume on my owner all day.

Still, it made Minori happy. She lifted her wrist up to her nose and inhaled deeply.

I could smell it from where I stood, and, admittedly, it was a nice scent. It had a kind of heavy rose fragrance that was complimented by something lighter, like a breeze carrying the smell of autumn. Fitting, then, since we were in the beginning of fall.

Then, Minori took the perfume and put it back in the little black box. She did this thing where she bounced on her toes a few times, deciding, and then she giggled and put her arms around Klaus's neck in a gentle hug.

Klaus returned the gesture. Despite the blush on his cheeks, I could see he was a little uncomfortable, which was _really_ confusing, considering the fact that he definitely liked Minori in that way. So why would a hug make him uncomfortable? Wouldn't it have made him happy?

She pulled away, detecting his reluctance, and brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her braid behind one ear — embarrassed. Taking a little step back, she then thanked Klaus again for the gift.

He nodded, said something quietly, and then —

— and then he lingered, and the air was so tense that I, the spectator, could hardly breathe.

The broken equanimity reached Minori, too, and she ducked her head a little. She said something in a small, hiding voice before turning back toward her house to put the little black box in a safe place.

But Klaus reached out and grabbed her wrist, the same one she had sprayed perfume on. He said her name — but it was in a low, growly register. Not angry, but longing.

He brought Minori's wrist to his mouth and pressed it there. It wasn't quite a kiss, but it was more intimate than any display of affection I had ever seen.  
And then, without another word, Klaus dropped her arm and walked to the exit of the farm, his steps deliberate and his head bent down in —

— shame?

Minori stood, watching him go. Her cheeks were the same shade of pink as the perfume. She held her wrist in her other hand and stared at it, as if Klaus's gesture had left a mark.

And maybe it had.

* * *

A week passes, and Minori starts taking me directly into town.

Before, she would trust me to stay near the bridge that went over the river while she ran errands in town. And I would stay — sometimes for ten minutes, and other times for a few hours. There were always things to do. I especially liked watching the butterflies, and I even memorized some people's routines, like how Fritz always ran to town a certain time every day and the little kid — not sure what her name is — liked to go exploring with her friend Lutz.

But by the time we're well into fall, Minori doesn't dismount to run her errands until we're right outside wherever she needs to be. Then I stand and wait for her, like some sort of taxi service.

To be honest, it isn't that bad. There's even more to look at in town than out by the river, and more to smell, and more to see, and more to hear. Plus, it's a new location everyday. One of the spots she visits the most is what I think is a general store (since she always comes out with a way heavier backpack and a sack of chicken feed). But other times we stop outside where Angela works, or the restaurant.

My favorite place of all is the trading area. It's a giant courtyard of sorts, and there's always interesting people. The size of the space makes me think that it used to be a lot more crowded, but I think a bigger group of people than what's there now would make me nervous.

The trading area is the only place that Minori will tie me up, and I think it's because she gets nervous about someone trying to steal me there. Everywhere else, I just wait and walk around town until she gets done with her errand and whistles for me to come get her.

All of the townspeople know me as Minori's horse. Some — especially the younger ones — smuggle apples and carrots to me when Minori isn't around. I'm not worried about getting fat, though — Minori has gotten good at staying mounted bareback even when galloping, so I get a good workout every day.

We go to town everyday together for about a week. Fall is in its prime — I get leaves in my mane anytime I step outside the confines of the barn.

On the last day of the week, Minori stopped me by a tall house in the west side of town that we hadn't been to before. She gave me a pat before walking to the door by herself, but instead of walking off like I usually did, I decided to stay and see who she was visiting.

Klaus answered the door.

Well, I guess I should have suspected that. He didn't seem surprised to see her there — in fact, he seemed really welcoming. The weird tension from Minori's birthday had evaporated.

I snorted. Minori looked over her shoulder at me and waved — and I snorted again in response, tossing my mane out of my eyes. This guy was no good for her. I couldn't put my finger on it, but for some reason he didn't want to be with her. I didn't want him to end up breaking her heart.

Well, Minori went inside Klaus's house with him, so there wasn't really anything I could do. I stood guard outside the door for a few minutes, wondering what they could possibly have been up to, but that got boring really quickly. So, instead, I started wandering around town.

I ran into the little boy, Lutz, on the way to the west side of town. He gave me a couple of pats on the head and then brought me to the general store and came out with an apple, which I promptly ate. At least someone around here knew how not to abandon a horse.

About half an hour later, there was a tense moment where I ran into Elise. But, instead of glaring at me like she used to after I dumped her in cow dung, she actually pet me. Like, reached up and tickled my nose a little bit. I was so surprised my ears almost folded back — but something about her tone of voice was different than it used to be. So I leaned into her touch a little bit, and she giggled.

 _Humans_ , right?

That's where things started to get funny. Usually Minori would only be in someone's house for about an hour before she whistled and I went back and gave her a ride to her next destination. The longest she had ever gone was until sunset, but she had left me in the river area that day so I had lots of grass to eat.

Suddenly, though, I looked to the west and the sun was sinking low into the sky. I started to make my way back toward Klaus's house, thinking that surely she would be done soon, but when I got there all of the lights were turned off. They had left.

How offensive. I mean, who just leaves their horse waiting out in the cold like that? And for a man?

Then I got nervous. What if something had happened to Minori, and that was why she hadn't whistled for me? What if Klaus was leading her on, like I suspected, and something had gone wrong?

As I was pondering this, I suddenly ran into Eda. She was hobbling out of the general store, carrying a little bag filled with fresh fruit and some bread.  
She said a few things in her quiet, old lady voice and then reached up to pat my side. She looked even thinner than when I had last seen her, and my increasingly-large heart got the better of me. I bowed my head to the ground, trying to signal her that I was perfectly willing to bring her home so she didn't have to walk the whole way. (After all, it didn't seem like Minori was going to need me anytime soon.)

Eda was either very desperate or she got the drift (or both), because she used what I think was the very last of her energy to climb Otmar's little fence and get up onto my back. Once she was seated properly, she let out a long, heavy sigh, and then squeezed my stomach with her legs (though it was less of a squeeze than a gentle breeze, if I was being honest).

I started at a slow walk into the river area, being extra careful to avoid anything that might trip us up. Eda started talking to me — and even though I couldn't understand what she was saying, it helped keep my mind off of the fact that Minori had either abandoned me or something was wrong.

We made it past the river, and then past the fields, and finally into the mountain area. There, we ran into Fritz, who walked with us all the way back to Eda's farm. Once we were in front of Eda's house, he helped Eda off of my back and then escorted her inside — though not before Eda could pull an apple out of her bag and feed it to me.

I was left with nothing to do but head back to Minori's farm. The sun had set. All of the other animals were inside — Minori had left them in today. Maybe that meant she had already known she would be coming home late?

That put my mind a little at ease. It made sense, especially because it didn't look or feel like it would rain that morning.

But the sky darkened to a shade of ash, and she still wasn't back. I stood diligently by the gate of the pasture, digging my front hoof into the ground. If I could only speak human, then I would have been able to give her a stern lecture when she got back from her date.

Finally, an hour after the stars appeared, I could make out two figures coming up the path. The first was Minori, and the second was Klaus. Minori was wearing a coat far too big for her — it had to be his — and Klaus was carrying a thin rectangular box, the kind that people put chocolate in.

They stopped about ten feet away from the pasture. Minori started to shrug off the coat she was wearing, but Klaus held out a hand to stop her from doing so. Then there was an excruciatingly awkward moment where I'm pretty sure both of them wanted to kiss but neither of them made a move.

I snorted, and Minori heard. She turned to look at me —

— and gasped.

So, I was right. She had completely forgotten about my existence.

Minori ran toward me, and Klaus was completely forgotten. She reached over the fence and rubbed my nose, and out of her mouth flowed an endless stream of apologies. Yeah, well, she ought to have been sorry; she left me for that guy.

Still, I nudged her shoulder, letting her know that I forgave her — especially since Klaus looked so pitiful standing alone in the dark ten feet away as his importance suddenly became subordinate to mine.

Before Minori started herding me back toward the stable, she looked over her shoulder and said a few parting words to Klaus. His response was quieter, almost amused, but Minori didn't seem to hear him as she continued murmuring apologies to me.

Served him right, leading her on like that. It looked like I'd won this particular battle after all — no kisses for Klaus.

(Though, when Minori was giving me a thorough brushing a few minutes later, I noticed that the coat she was wearing reeked of his scent, so I guess I had to give him some style points in the overall competition.)


	6. Chapter 6

_(Part 6/9. Contains spoilers — 'cause, ya know, winter. Sorry for the slight delay.)_

* * *

Things go well for a while. Fall comes to a close, but Minori and I keep riding into town, and she doesn't forget that I exist. She visits Klaus more, but nothing happens between them that's intimate — at least, not that I see. Klaus still seems to be on the fence about his feelings toward her, and it makes me uneasy.

And then, one morning, something very strange happens.

Minori doesn't come to the barn.

Thankfully we have enough fodder to support two cows, two sheep (she got another one, named Frankie), and a horse, but I'm less worried about my stomach than I am about Minori. Not once in my three seasons of knowing her has she ever forgotten to come and take care of us for the day.

But I know by the restlessness in my bones that dawn comes and goes, and as does noon. Still no Minori.

By the time the sun sets, I'm extremely concerned. The incident with her forgetting my existence was one thing, but to not even enter the stable at all? She couldn't have just forgotten all of us, right?

The rest of the animals are on edge, too — even Frankie, the newbie. I can only hope that the chickens next door, and Zuzu, Minori's rabbit, have enough food to get through the night.

It gets worse. The next day, the barn door creaks open at dawn, like usual — except, instead of Minori appearing from behind the sliding slats of wood, it's Fritz.

He's even messier than usual. He isn't even fully clothed; he's just wearing a pair of pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His eyes are red, like he's been crying a lot.

Fritz works quickly, milking the cows and shearing the sheep with his endearingly clumsy hands — but, when he gets to me, all I get is a pat on the side. Then he scoops some fodder into the feeding bin, rubs at his eyes, and leaves.

This continues for a few days, except the person changes every morning. Fritz doesn't come back. The second day it's Veronica, the mayor, and she looks as washed-out as I've ever seen her. Then Giorgio, one of the other farmers, helps out.

Agate comes on the fourth day and gives us all a good brushing, as well as the proper affection that all the others have been missing. I'm still so nervous about Minori that I can barely stand still as she combs through my mane.

I start to assume the worst, until finally, on the eighth day, the door slides open to reveal Minori.

The difference is shocking, and unfairly evident. Her skin is paler, her eyes are dull, even her kerchief is askew. She looks, in a word, gaunt.

She doesn't whistle as she milks the cows. She doesn't smile, she doesn't laugh, she doesn't tell us a story we can't understand while she brushes the sheep.

And when she comes to me, she doesn't look at me. She doesn't even rub my nose.

Well, that's simply unacceptable. Before she can leave the barn, I trot up to her and nudge her in the shoulder. She pushes my nose away with one hand, but I nudge her again, and again, until —

— until, finally, she turns to face me. The look on her face is heartbreaking, somewhere between anguish and frustration. Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears; they look glassy and too tired to belong to her usually-chipper disposition.

She then does something very unexpected. She turns on her heels, opens the barn door —

— and whistles.

It's a call for me, and I know it. So I step outside into the cool winter air and follow her out to the side of the fence, our usual mounting point.

She slams her foot on the first rung of the fence, and then the second, and practically jumps onto my back. She's so practiced at riding bareback now that she doesn't even need to grab my mane — she's got the leg strength and she's in-sync enough with me to know when to hold on and when to ease up — but she snatches it up anyway.

Then, she leans forward until her body is practically flesh with my neck, and squeezes me in the stomach.

I start at a walk, but she nudges my stomach harder. I kick it up to a trot, and this time she kicks me in the stomach and yells at me. So I gallop.

But we're headed toward the edge of the pasture, and I notice that the gate isn't open. I'm about to slow down so that she can get off to open the door and let me out, but she doesn't let me steer off course. Instead, she tugs my mane so that I'm still headed straight for the fence. I realize that she wants me to jump.

It's been a few days since I've even been outside, let alone jumped anything, but I clear the fence in a single bound. Minori lets out a grunt as we hit the ground, yet she manages to keep her balance and doesn't fall off.

I swing my head around to look at her. She looks —

— angry.

I wonder if I've done something wrong, but before I can give it too much thought she yanks my mane sharply to the right, and then I'm headed in that direction — toward Eda's farm.

Minori steers me straight through the little grouping of trees and onto Eda's property, but we still don't slow down. Instead, we go straight past Eda's house, past the barn and the coop, and even past the fields until we reach the other side of the farm.

I'm starting to get tired going at this pace for so long. Minori leans to the left and I follow her movement so that we're now heading toward the river.

It hasn't frozen over yet, since it's still early in winter. We run until I know that I won't be able to stop us from drowning unless I pull back a bit. I slow to a trot, and then a walk. Minori seems to slow with me — her grip on my mane loosens; I can feel her slouch as she lets out a shaky breath.

I start walking along the river, careful to give us a bit of leeway so that if Minori were to suddenly fall off, she wouldn't slide down the bank into the icy water. Every so often, I hear her breath shake with sadness.

Well, at least the anger has abated.

Minori finally pulls me to a stop in front of Eda's house. Before I even stop fully moving, she's swung both of her legs to one side and is hopping to the ground.

She takes a step toward the river, and then another one, and then, quite suddenly, crumbles to the ground and hides her head in her hands.

Only then do I realize something very off about Eda's farm.

It's quiet. Disconcertingly so. Not only have all of the leaves fallen off the trees, and the ground is still dusted with early-morning snowfall, but I can't hear Eda's animals. Most of the fields are barren, and those that aren't only have withered crops. No lights are on inside Eda's house, and —

— and I understand.

Eda did, after all, look very thin and frail the last time I saw her.

Minori is not crying. She has raised her head from her hands. Her knees are curled up against her chest, with both arms wrapped tightly around her shins.

I take a step forward, and then another. Lowering my head, I nudge Minori's shoulder.

She reaches one hand up to stroke my nose, and then it drops to the side — limp, cold —

— lifeless.

* * *

It only gets colder.

Days pass. Minori lets us outside the whole day, and it's chilly but not unbearable. She opens the gate for me, but doesn't ride me into town anymore. In fact, she spends most of the day on the farm.

Once she finishes taking care of the animals and tending to the winter crops, she devotes all of her time and energy to a new building at the east end of the farm. I can't quite tell what it is, yet, but she has the framework up. Gunther, the carpenter, comes to check on it, but she sends him away before he can give any pointers.

And so another week passes, and another week: Minori lets us out at dawn, works on the building, and puts us back in when the sun sets. When she goes to town, it's on foot, and it's never for more than an hour. She doesn't come back with much else than chicken feed and her own supplies for living, and she doesn't bring anyone home with her, either — not even Klaus.

As much as I feel bad for Minori (after all, I've lost my own fair share of friends — cows get old too quickly), part of me resents the way that she's treating us, and herself. Not that there's much I can do when I can't talk to her.

Today, though, I had had enough.

It started when Minori came in late to let us outside. It wasn't so much the fact that she was late as it was the condition she arrived in. Her hair was disheveled, she was still in her flannel pajamas, and she was sneezing _all over the place._

Well, Hanako and I liked to keep a sanitary barn, and we weren't sure we wanted Minori infecting it with her human sickness. Besides, it was time for her to go into town anyway. Some different air would help drive the cold away.

While Minori went back inside her house, presumably to change clothes, I came up with a plan. There had to be a way to communicate to her that she and I both needed some exercise — even if she didn't want it.

There was a crack between the door and the wall of the barn. It was annoying at night because it let in a draft, but today I could use it to my advantage. I squeezed one hoof through the door, and then, with as much dexterity as a beast my size could manage, pushed the door open wide enough for me to fit through the gap.

On a shelf at the back of the barn was Minori's riding helmet. I grabbed the chinstrap between my teeth and tugged it off the shelf; then, as quickly as I had entered, I went back out to the pasture.

After jumping the dip in the fence like I did everyday, I stood underneath a tall oak tree and waited for her to come back out of the house. Ten minutes later, she did — and she was dressed in an oversized black coat. I recognized it as the one she had borrowed from Klaus in the fall.

As much as I hated to admit it, I knew he was the one I'd have to take her to see. The only thing that can chase away grief is a little bit of love.

So I trotted on over to Minori and neighed. She looked up, surprised to see her horse carrying her riding helmet (and, hey, I can't say I blame her), and then she cracked the first smile I'd seen in at least a week. We were already making progress.

I nudged her shoulder encouragingly, and then gently placed the riding helmet at her feet. She took a moment to brush away the saliva I had left on the chin strap (sorry, Minori), and then, after only a second's hesitation, sighed in submission and put the helmet on her head.  
I shook my mane, exuberant that I was finally going to be able to get her off of the farm and to see another human. It was far too cold and dank and gray here. She needed the town to lift her spirits.

We walked back to the fence together, where, as usual, she stepped up on the rungs so she could mount. The second I felt her legs secure around my stomach and my mane in her hands, we were off.

She was a little lighter than I remembered. Not by much, of course, but enough to tell. The way she carried herself was different, too — her posture had slipped. Well, I would have to adjust that.

I picked up the pace to a gallop. It made for a pretty scene, riding through the mountains with a light snow falling from the sky. I think Minori realized it, too, because I heard her sigh as we passed some of the public fields. And it wasn't a sad sigh, no sir — it was lighter, airier, more real Minori-esque than I had heard since the beginning of winter.

We passed the field and river area. Lutz was walking by, and he gave a cheerful greeting to Minori. She returned the gesture with half-enthusiasm, but it was better than nothing.

When we made it to the third area before town, I slowed down to a walk. After all, the roads might've been icy, so I wanted to make sure Minori was on her toes. Sure enough, she sat up straighter — like she used to.

The town wasn't nearly as gray as the farm. In fact, there were a lot more unfamiliar faces than the last time I had gone in the fall — like tourists. Minori and the other farmers had to be working hard.

Besides all the extra people, light streamed out of various buildings' windows. Pine trees and snowberries dotted the street. It was scenic, bustling, and gentle — not the harsh winter Minori had been living, and it was perfect for what I was hoping to accomplish.

We eventually made our way to the west side of town. Minori stiffened as she realized where I was taking her, and her grip on my mane tightened.

I stopped in front of Klaus's door and snorted.

There was a long pause, and I heard Minori sigh. She patted me on the neck once, twice — and said something quietly before finally dismounting.

She took a couple of steps so that she was close enough to knock, and then —

— and then she hesitated, her fist raised to the wood but not touching it.

She looked over her shoulder at me. I snorted again.

As she turned back to the door, she nodded and murmured a few encouraging words to herself. Then, three knocks sounded against the heavy oak door. Each knock was firmer, more certain than the last.

A few seconds passed. Then several seconds. Half a minute.

Minori's shoulders slumped. But just as she was about to turn around —

The door swung wide open. There stood Klaus, something unfamiliar rendering his gaze dark as storm clouds —

— but as soon as he saw Minori, his eyes _brightened_ and a small chuckle slipped out of his lips.

Minori said something quietly, like the beginning of an apology, but before she could finish her thought, Klaus reached his arms around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. Minori laughed — and that was definitely the first time I'd heard her laugh this winter — and hugged him back.

Then, he released her only to hold her shoulders at arm's length, and Klaus laughed again before launching into a bit of a long-winded speech (the meaning of which I wasn't certain). The excitement in his voice was evident, though — even to a horse.

His speech was interrupted by Minori sneezing. She apologized, but Klaus waved a hand and invited her inside.

As he led Minori through the door with a hand at the small of her back, I remembered the way Klaus's whole countenance had lifted when he opened the door, and the way his speech was so excited, and the way he hugged her, and —

— and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd somehow done a favor for more than just Minori.

* * *

 _(I've always felt like Minori would have a strong relationship with Eda and that Eda's death would affect her hugely. I dunno, Eda gave her so much in the beginning, and I'll bet that especially in Spring when the farmer didn't have many friends, Eda would've been such a foundation. So yeah. That's why this is so feelings-y. And, of course, we had to have some Klaus in there. Next chapter is fluffier. Only three left!)_


	7. Chapter 7

_(Part 7/9. Klaus in a black polo gives me life.)_

* * *

The remaining winter days pass much more quickly, and are much warmer than the first three weeks — in a lot of ways.

The day after her visit with Klaus, Minori has a new light in her eyes. She goes to town more; she laughs more; she smiles more. It's a gradual change, surely — but I know that with every passing hour she returns to a more normal state.  
We only get one really bad snowstorm, and then, all at once, the air changes.

Minori lets me and the rest of the animals outside — and she's hatched so many chickens I've nearly lost count of them, not to mention we added another sheep and a rabbit named Zuzu — and the moment I leave the confines of the barn I can feel the gentle air of spring.

Hanako and I exchange a glance full of relief. Winter was rough, but Spring —  
Spring always holds promise, no matter what kind of Winter you're coming from.

Hanako, speaking of her, handled Eda's death really well. She's old, in cow years, and I think she expected it to happen eventually. I didn't even have to tell her — she seemed to know from the start.

On the second day of spring, Minori drags the barn door open with a bit more difficulty than usual. Propped between her hand and one hip is a saddle.  
It's not an ordinary saddle, though — and it's also not the one that smelled like dog urine that she tried to give me almost a year ago. This saddle is polished, good quality, and smells like fresh leather and something — _someone_ — very familiar.

Eda.

Sure enough, a nod from Hanako confirms my thoughts: it seems that Eda's final gift to Minori is the saddle.

Well, I may be stubborn, but I'm not heartless. Minori walks over and allows me to give the saddle a good sniffing. It's in even better condition than I thought — nicer than some of the saddles at Elise's farm. Eda must have been a hardcore horseback rider in her younger days.

So, when Minori goes to put it on my back, I don't pull away. I stand, patiently, as she fixes each buckle and attaches stirrups and adjusts the belts so that they aren't uncomfortable.

That morning, we go for the longest ride we've ever been on. With the new saddle, Minori gets newfound confidence. She was already a fairly good rider to begin with, but I guess the security of stirrups and something to hold on to other than my mane makes it so that she feels better about taking me deeper into the mountain areas, and even past the public fields to the east.

We tread new territory. There's a big clearing that looks nice for grazing, but we follow the river until it pours over the edge of a sharp cliff and turns into a waterfall.

It's a beautiful sight, really — especially in the spring when the snow has just melted so the water swells with extra weight. We stand close to the edge of the cliff for a while. I munch on some grass; Minori takes in the scenery. And I guess I do a little of the latter, too. It's too beautiful to ignore.

On the ride home, I have to admit that the saddle isn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. It might have been if Minori had set the straps too tightly, but she's too careful for that. The best part of it is that the chances of her falling off have slimmed, even if she has gotten pretty good at riding bareback.  
We don't go all the way back to the farm. Instead, Minori starts leading me with the reins toward town. I happily oblige, and we go past the mountain area and the public fields and finally reach the little cobblestone path.

But, instead of going to the south of town or to the trading area, we take a sharp left at the entrance that leads onto a different path, and a familiar one: the cobblestone path to Elise's farm.

I ease up on the speed a little, tossing my head back to look at Minori. I don't want to assume the worst, but we've never gone to Elise's farm before. Sometimes I see Elise and Minori chatting together (Minori is, after all, friends with everyone), but that's the extent of it.

She isn't about to return me to Elise, is she?

I soon find out I couldn't be more wrong.

We enter Elise's main farm area, and, standing in the middle of the path is not only Elise, but also Klaus.

He's the most dressed down I've ever seen him, donning a simple black polo shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans (I didn't know it was possible for Klaus to wear jeans).

He also looks the youngest I've ever seen him — and that's the first time it strikes me just how much older Klaus is than Minori.

And that's also the first time it all makes sense: the hesitancy, the uncomfortableness that Klaus displays whenever he's around Minori, all of which contrasts so starkly with the obvious affection he feels toward her.  
He's in love with her, but he's older and he's embarrassed. I just didn't figure it out until now.

I wonder if Minori knows.

My thoughts are cut off short as Minori takes her leg out of one stirrup, swings it around my back, and dismounts. She brushes her shorts off and gives me a pat on the neck before joining Elise and Klaus at the middle of the path for some talking. I'm still a little on edge about being returned to Elise, but somehow having Klaus there, and wearing a pair of jeans, makes me think that maybe this isn't about me and that it's somehow about him.

Just as I get a strong urge to knock my hoof against the cobblestone, Elise gestures toward a stable on the far end of the field. Minori and Klaus both nod and say something, and, as Klaus and Elise start toward the stable, Minori backtracks toward me and grabs the reins to lead me along with them.

Now I start getting nervous again. I tug against the reins frenetically, desperately wanting to just stay put. Minori doesn't understand; she turns to look at me with confusion darkening her eyes.

I tug against the reins one more time, in what I hope is a clear signal that I want to be left alone.

I don't know if she understands, but Minori laughs a little for a moment and then walks closer to me and leans her head against my flank. She reaches one hand up and strokes my neck, murmuring what sounds like reassurances.  
Well, I'm fairly reassured, so when she grabs my reins again to start pulling me toward the stable, I follow — knowing that if it starts looking like I'm about to get returned to Elise I can always make a quick getaway.

That's not what I want, thought — at least, not anymore.

Elise slides open the barn door. I realize for the first time that Rick, the stable man, isn't anywhere to be seen. Elise is doing everything herself.

We follow her and Klaus inside. It's a lot lighter of a stable than I remember — they must have had windows installed — but still not as open as Minori's barn.

I recognize some of the other animals. There are newcomers in the back, though, including a young calf that looks a little like my old friend (and only friend, on this farm) Bessie.

Klaus and Elise move toward the back of the barn, where the horses are kept. I follow Minori, still hesitant but trusting that she won't let anything bad happen.  
Elise has four horses — one that I have no memory of, probably my replacement. She's black like pavement, with solid splotches of white on her forehead and her flank.

The rest of the horses I have faint memory of — a bay, like me, a paint, and a little red pony with a white mane. Klaus walks up to the pony and reaches over the stall door to stroke her mane. The pony eases into his sure touch, and then I have my second revelation of the day:

Klaus knows horses. I knew that from the first time I met him in the mountain area last spring, when he did his little pseudo-inspection, and when he was so effective in calming me down during the summer thunderstorm. And, now, I can see it from the way that the red pony likes him so easily.

Maybe Klaus wants a horse?

Minori nudges me with her shoulder. I shift my weight and nudge her forward with my nose. She joins Klaus to pet the red pony, and giggles at something he says in a hushed voice.

Klaus watches Minori intently as she holds her hand out for the horse to smell, and I can see the affection buried in his eyes. It's the first time I actually feel like maybe I shouldn't distrust Klaus as much as I do — especially considering that now I know why he always seems to be leading Minori along. It's not that he's doing it purposefully — in fact, knowing him, he probably beats himself up for it all the time.

Well, what an idiot. Who cares about age gaps anymore, anyway?

Minori eventually turns away from the red pony and spins around slowly to look at each of the other horses in turn. Klaus asks her a question, which she answers by pointing at the black and white horse in the stall closest to me.

Klaus walks over to the stall. He reaches a hand over the stall door again, and the mare walks toward him to meet his touch. From that action alone, I can tell that she's a tame horse — gentle, especially in the way that she raises her head a little so he can rub her nose comfortably.

Minori joins Klaus by the door, but looks over her shoulder to ask Elise a few questions. I catch what I think is a name — Blossom.

I toss my mane away from my eyes and look toward Blossom, the horse, again. She and Klaus seem to be getting along quite well. After a while, Klaus asks Minori another question, and then they both look at me.

There's an awkward pause where I'm not entirely sure what's going on and why they're staring at me, and then I get it: Klaus, for whatever reason, wants my approval.

I toss my head again and take a step closer to Blossom to give her a good sniffing. She returns the gesture. She smells like hay and, fittingly enough, flowers.

Then I pull away, and give a good nicker in an attempt to make it clear that I approve.

Klaus takes his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans and hands a few bills over to Elise. He says something and then there's a small deal of commotion, and barely do I realize what's happening before Blossom's all saddled up and ready to go.

Minori leads me out of the stable. Klaus and Blossom follow, with Elise all the way at the back of our little parade.

Once we're outside, Klaus walks over and lets Minori use his hands as a little step-up so that she can mount me with less difficulty.

(Alright, Klaus, I get it — you're adorable and you like her. I'm sorry I judged you.)

Then, Klaus crosses to Blossom and mounts her with an ease I don't think I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of different people mount a lot of different horses. Once he's up on top of Blossom's back, though, his demeanor transforms — he looks nothing short of a dashing knight, albeit a knight in blue jeans and a black polo.

I think Minori is thinking the same thing, because I feel her grip on the reins tighten a little. Looking back at her, I can see the little dusting of pink on her cheeks — and I snort. She shares a secret smile with me, and a bit of warmth blooms in my chest.

A few more words are exchanged between Minori, Klaus, and Elise, and then Minori is squeezing her legs around my stomach and signaling for me to walk. I go forward, and before long, Blossom gets the idea and she and Klaus follow.

Minori and Klaus (I'm not sure who's leading, since we're walking side by side) lead us off of Elise's farm and toward the river area. I learn a lot about Blossom just by walking next to her — not only is she a gentle horse, but she's got a really nice gait. Not to mention she's cheerful, what with the way she tosses her mane and nickers every time a butterfly flutters into view (which, given that it's spring, is about every ten seconds).

The sun has already risen pretty far in the sky by the time we make it past the public fields. Minori takes the lead now, showing Klaus the way that we went just this morning. There isn't really a path through the trees, but we walk a little slower so that Blossom and I can watch out for the stray rocks and branches in our path.

Eventually we come across the clearing I had wanted to graze in that morning, the one just before the waterfall. Klaus casts Minori a mischievous glance and says something teasingly; then, before I know it, Blossom is racing ahead of us, across the field of grass.

Minori laughs, and then gives me a gentle kick in the stomach. She doesn't have to tell me twice. I pick up the pace to a brisk gallop, and we're on Blossom's tail within seconds.

Klaus shouts something to Minori, to which she only acts falsely offended before she says something mocking right back.

Blossom takes a few steps left, and I follow her. She picks up the pace, and I'm on her heels. And just like that, we're all dancing — Blossom and I with our steps, and Klaus and Minori with words and laughter.

This goes on for a while — and then, I suddenly feel a shift in Minori's position on my back. She pulls back on the reins so that I'm forced to falter in my step, to slow down. Her feet slide out of the stirrups, and —

— and then, somehow, she tumbles to the ground.

It's an artistic tumble, if there ever was such a thing. She does it _purposefully_ — I mean, who purposefully tumbles off a horse? — but there's no way she just fell off, especially when she's gotten so good at riding and she has a saddle to keep her secure.

But somehow she ends up on the ground, and then she just lies there. I can't stop my momentum very quickly, so I circle around Blossom once more and then pull up to a stop a couple feet away from Minori.

Blossom notices before Klaus, but as soon as his horse slows down Klaus looks around, and cries out Minori's name. Then his entire disposition darkens as he sees her on the ground: riding helmet strewn to the side, hair splayed out on the grass. Her eyes are closed, her expression blank.

Klaus practically jumps off of his horse, and running over to her as soon as his feet touch the earth. Blossom slows to a halt and stands beside me. We watch the scene unfold.

Klaus calls Minori's name again, but she doesn't respond. He drops to his knees on the ground beside her, looking helpless for a moment as his hands flutter near her cheeks, her forehead — but never touching her.

She can't actually be hurt, can she? She fell purposefully, after all —

Finally, Klaus, gathering courage, pushes hair away from her forehead and rests his hand on her cheek.

He says something in a low, frightened voice, and lowering his head so that it's closer to her face.

Just then, her eyes flutter open. I watch as she smiles gently at him, gaze half-lidded against the bright spring sunshine —

— and then props herself up on one elbow to kiss Klaus very, _very_ lightly on the lips.

Against his mouth, she mumbles a single word — one that I wish, more than anything, I could understand. But before I can even decipher what she might be saying, she leans back on the grass and closes her eyes again.

Klaus looks — angry, for the flash of a second when Minori's eyes open, but when she kisses him the crease in his forehead smooths.

And now —

— and now, as she lowers herself onto the grass again, he smirks like a wolf.

He says something in that voice — the voice he used on Minori's birthday, the one filled with longing — and Minori's eyes snap open. Before she can respond, however, he's on top of her. And I mean that quite literally, as in he moves so that he's straddling her entire body. Only his elbows, which dig into the grass as he props himself up, keep him from crushing her into the ground.  
He kisses her — not just a quick, fluttering kiss like the one she gave him moments before, but with simultaneous warmth and roughness; with deep, heart-felt care but also with fierce, burning desire.

He kisses her three times, and then he pauses and lifts his head from hers — probably checking for her consent (because, after all, Klaus is nothing if not a gentleman) — but he already has it. Without missing a beat, Minori grabs a fistful of his shirt and a fistful of his soot-colored hair and pulls him down to meet her again.

Klaus shifts so that he can wrap an arm around Minori's back. In one swift motion, he pulls her from the ground and readjusts so that she can sit in his lap and they aren't as uncomfortable. They don't break apart for a single second, though, and I wonder for the first time if humans somehow have a bigger lung capacity than horses do.

They kiss. A lot. And there's teasing in between the kisses, and joy, and laughter — laughter that warms my heart, because, while there's a lot of pent-up desire in their long-awaited spit-swapping session, there's a lot of love, too.

Love that I didn't understand until Minori stupidly took me in as her horse. Love that I didn't understand until she trained me tirelessly. Love that I didn't understand until she cried outside of Eda's house on a freezing winter morning.

Love that Klaus didn't fully understand, either — until Minori taught him that you're never too old to find it, even when your eyes are tired and you think you know too much.


	8. Chapter 8

_(Part 8/9. Time for that pink flower event — with a twist. uh oh.)_

Klaus and Minori become the cutest couple to ever exist.

Alright, well, maybe I'm a little biased, because Minori is my owner so I'm practically obligated to support whoever she chooses to go out with, but they really are sweet.

About a week after they finally kiss, Minori spends half the day inside of her sewing shed working on a big fat something. Hanako and I are left out in the field, exchanging curious glances as we hear various clinks and clanks from the eastern side of the farm.

Then, around four o'clock, Minori skips out of the spool-shaped building with a tiny velvet box in her hand. She whistles for me, and I jump the pasture fence. Once I'm close enough, I nuzzle the hand that's holding the little box.

Laughing, she opens it so I can see what she's spent most of the day making.  
It's a ring. The stone is green — evergreen, like that coat that Klaus always wears. I had already suspected that whatever she was making was for him, so the color only confirms my guesses.

She closes the box again after she's sure I've gotten a good look at it. I take a step backwards toward the pasture so that Minori can use the fence to mount me. She's so excited, though, that she forgoes the step-stool approach and just uses the stirrup to hoist herself up like a normal person. (Though, to her benefit, she is pretty short, hence why she usually uses the fence.)

And then we're off. I figure that we're heading toward Klaus's house, but when we get to the base of the mountain area she takes a left turn so that we're headed back toward the big grassy field that they kissed in.

There's no sign of Klaus or Blossom along the way, but I have an inkling that we're about to see them sometime soon.

Still, we pass the grassy area and forge ahead through another line of trees. Past this, I remember, is the waterfall Minori and I found the first day she gave me a saddle.

The weather is beautiful — a perfect spring day. Not a single cloud in the sky, and just enough of a breeze to cool off the warm sun beating down on your back.

Minori tugs me to a stop just after we break through the line of trees and foliage, and then I see them: Klaus and Blossom. Blossom is contently munching on some fresh grass near the river.

Klaus, on the other hand, is sitting on the ground. Well, not exactly on the ground — there's a big square blanket spread out underneath him, cherry-colored with white thread stitched around the outer edge. Next to him is a big basket with a lot of tupperware containers and a few plastic bags in it.  
They're having a picnic. Of course.

Minori practically prances over to Klaus, joining him on the blanket. I take up residence next to Blossom, but, eager to see Klaus's reaction to the ring, watch the scene unfold before me with curiosity.

Klaus starts unloading the picnic basket as Minori takes a seat next to him. She's all giggles and smiles, and he's trying to explain the food he has packed. It all looks pretty normal for a picnic — sandwiches, bottles of lemonade, some pretzels, and what looks like a bit of chocolate cake in a plastic container.

They chow down on the food, and it only takes me a minute or so to realize that Minori is probably waiting until they're done eating to give him the ring.

So I munch a bit of grass, waiting patiently for them to finish their own meal. Blossom looks perfectly content next to me. She's still housed at Elise's stable even though Klaus uses her for trail rides, so having this outside time is probably really nice for her.

Klaus and Minori carry on a playful, though, from what I can tell, meaningful conversation. Minori talks with her mouth full once, and Klaus teases her for it. She nudges him with her shoulder, and he nudges back, smiling at her like she's the loveliest thing he's ever set eyes upon.

It's in moments like these, I suppose, that Klaus's hidden youth shows through. It makes an old horse's heart warm.

Finally, after what feels like ages, there's a lull in the conversation and I watch Minori discreetly pull the ring box out of her pocket. Before she can present it to Klaus, though, he pulls out the container of chocolate cake.

Giggling, Minori slides the box back in her pocket. I snort, and Blossom digs a hoof into the ground. We're both waiting, it seems.

As he opens the lid of the cake container, though, Klaus tells Minori to close her eyes. I know, not because I understand the English, but because there's a few badgering questions from Minori before she scrunches her eyes shut and keeps them that way, her mouth fixed in a pout.

Instead of feeding Minori the forkful of cake held in his hand, Klaus sets the fork back in the container without a sound Then, with great care, he cups Minori's cheek in one hand and leans in to kiss her on the lips.

It's the first kiss of this meeting, and the first kiss I've seen since the big kissing back in the grassy clearing a week ago. (The lack of kissing hasn't been because they haven't wanted to — the problem has been that they've always been in public since then, and, both of them being rather polite individuals and not entirely sure about the state of their relationship, decided not to engage in a lot of PDA around town — and thank the Goddess, because no one wants to see that.)

Minori responds with a small sigh before returning the kiss. She raises a hand to his face and, with heavy tenderness, strokes her thumb over his jaw.

They don't break apart. Both are totally engaged in each other, eyes closed, speaking with no words —

And then, suddenly, I see Klaus's free hand slip into his left pocket. He grapples around for a moment, doing his best not to alert Minori to his sneakiness, and then —

— pulls out a tiny black box.

But not an engagement ring, by the looks of it. After all, they give blue feathers around here. I watch as he discreetly flips open the lid —

— but Minori is alerted by the noise. She breaks off from the kiss carefully, but her eyes widen to the size of saucers the moment she sees the ring.

It's beautiful. Sapphire, set in a silver band, with bits of crystal trailing off of the main gem.

Minori loves it. I can tell from the way that her hand flies to her mouth in surprise. Klaus, being Klaus, misreads her reaction and frantically asks asks if he's done something wrong — but she only laughs.

She pulls her own ring from her pocket and shows it to him. Klaus is stunned by the emerald, I think, because he can't say anything for a few seconds. Or maybe he's just stunned by the gesture in general.

Minori slides the ring onto Klaus's finger, and Klaus does the same for her. They sit with their foreheads touching, chocolate cake forgotten as they take in the shining gems wrapped around their fingers.

Klaus says a few things in a low and warm voice. Minori can only nod, too overwhelmed with happiness to say anything, I think.

He only kisses her once after this, and then he takes her into his arms, swallowing her in a safe embrace. She kisses his cheek, he rubs her hair —

— and then they stay like that for what seems like an eternity, watching the river roll over the edge of the cliff and plunge into the lake below, heartbeats matching heartbeats, breath matching breath, and so saccharine that my insides feel like mush.

And so it goes for quite some time. Klaus and Minori are accepted by the town as a couple. No one minds the gap between their age (except Klaus, on occasion). They get teased by the older villagers a lot, especially Otmar, and one day Veronica comes over for tea and Minori gets really embarrassed by whatever they talk about. If I had to guess, I'd say it was marriage.

There are a lot of dates. I'm present on several of them along with Blossom, and, if it isn't an outdoor date, I'm always chauffeuring Minori to wherever they meet (usually the restaurant or Klaus's house).

They're a cute couple, for sure. Even after the initial honeymoon phase calms down, there's still an obvious spark between them every time they touch — sometimes even when they just _look_ at each other. And, besides that, they go from having deep, intelligent conversations one moment to laughing about a piece of fuzz in Minori's hair the next. It's the kind of goopy stuff that people wish for when they're little kids — but that doesn't make it any less genuine.

Summer comes and goes; Autumn passes. There's a lot of cuddling on the couch once it gets cold outside — at least, that's what I see in glances through the window when Klaus forgets to "close the curtains, for propriety's sake."

Minori expands her farm like crazy. I think having Klaus around to see her progress somehow motivates her even more. Her house builds up to four times its original size — Hanako and I agree that, at this point, she must be thinking of raising a family. She wouldn't want that much space just for the heck of it.

And just like that, time flies and the first snow hits — and the big, bad, terrible thing happens.

It starts out like a normal day. Well, normal-ish.

Minori enters the barn like she usually does. She has two barns, now. I'm still in the original building with Hanako and Daisy and Frankie, but some of the other animals got shifted around a little to give us more space.

She blows warm air on her hands as she walks in. A dark green scarf is wrapped around her neck — one that Klaus gave her mid-Autumn to dress up his oversized coat, which she still wears — and her cheeks are red from the cold.

She goes through the daily chores, milking the cows and giving everyone treats and refilling the fodder bin. She comes to me last, like she usually does —  
— but, as she's brushing me, she suddenly pauses and lets out a long, tired sigh.

Confused, I turn my head to look at her. Could she be sick?

She leans her head against my flank, and I nudge her with my nose. With a small grunt of annoyance, she turns in the other direction. I let out a snort and look back to the front of the barn. So much for my attempt at being comforting.

But I'm genuinely concerned for her, especially when she has to take off her kerchief about two minutes later to run her hands over her face and through her hair. She says a couple of things to herself, and then, after a shake of the head, turns on her heel and slides open the barn door to let us outside for the day.

There's a fresh layer of snow on the ground. My hooves make little u-shaped marks as I walk. Hanako is about four paces behind, and, from the way that she swings her head back to look at the barn, I figure she's worried about Minori's weird mood, as well.

Hanako and I find refuge under our usual spot by the oak tree in the corner of the field. It's also the perfect spot to watch Minori's next movements, but, before I can really figure out what's wrong, she ends up walking inside her house and slamming the door loud enough to scare all the birds from the bare-branched trees.

I start going over the possibilities in my head. She's not usually this upset. Even when she underestimated the number of days it would take last season's carrots to grow and ended up losing half of the crop to the frost, she kept a smile on her face.

So, business is off the list. Could it be Klaus?

The thought worries me — but, then again, if it were Klaus, she probably would be even more upset than she is now. So it's something more serious than business, but less serious than Klaus.

Before I can do much more thinking, the door to Minori's house suddenly opens again, and she steps outside. In her hands is a silver paper-wrapped flower bouquet, made up of hydrangeas and white lilies.

She whistles, so I hop over the fence and make my way over. I'm already saddled up — that's become a part of regular morning routine — so all she has to do is get a foot in the stirrup and then she's mounted on my back.

Without a murmured word, she squeezes my stomach and leads me toward the pasture side of the farm. I don't usually go past the boundary into Eda's old field — it's mostly buildings for making products like cheese and yarn — but today Minori leads me straight past the line of trees that divides the two areas.

We walk the length of the river at a slow pace, probably because Minori is still holding the bouquet of flowers in her arms so it's harder for her to hold on to the reins. She lets out a few shaky breaths, and I look over my shoulder —

— and she's _crying_.

I haven't seen her cry in seasons — except for the time in Summer when she dropped a stack of wood on her foot and broke a toe, but that was justified. Crying people make me uneasy because I never know how to help.

She eventually tugs on my reins at the end of the river. I look around, trying to figure out where we've stopped, and then I see it: a gray, snow-dusted headstone, with a name etched onto the surface as well as two dates.

I know it's for Eda. It makes sense, actually — today has to be close to the one-year anniversary of her death. Maybe the first snow and the coldness triggered Minori's sadness.

She dismounts and lays the bouquet of flowers gently before the headstone. She gets on her knees and warbles out a river of words in a small voice — I'm not sure if she's praying or if she's just talking to Eda. She manages to hold back the tears, but I can hear the lump in her throat as she speaks.

We stay there long enough that I start to get cold from having stayed in one spot for so long. Still, I don't break the peace that has taken shape for fear that it will make Minori more upset than she already is.

Finally, Minori stands up and rubs her hands together to warm them. I try to guess how many hours have passed with her just sitting there and me standing guard, but the sun is covered by clouds, so I haven't the first idea. She turns around to mount me. I nudge her shoulder as she passes, and she pauses for the breadth of a moment before acquiescing and rubbing my nose.

I can tell she's still sad by the way she slouches as we ride back to the other side of the farm. In an attempt to lift her spirits, I pick up the pace to a trot, but I know it doesn't do much.

Minori guides me through the mountain area and then the public field space. By the time we're almost to town, I figure we must be headed to Klaus's house.

Well, good. If anyone can cheer her up, he can. He'll take one look at her bleary eyes and red nose and pull her inside to snuggle on the couch, drink hot coco, and listen to old records of retired bands playing sentimental Christmas music.

But instead, Minori eventually pulls me to a stop beside the antique shop where Mistel and Iris live. I toss my mane out of my eyes to be sure, but it's definitely not Klaus's brick abode. Maybe she's making a pitstop?

She dismounts, opens the door, and steps inside.

Now, I have no idea what happens next, but it's _bad_.

There's about two minutes of dead silence. I stay right outside the house, figuring that Minori won't be there long and then she'll head to Klaus's house next. Besides, I want to be sure that on a day like this when she's all upset, there's someone looking after her — even if that someone is a horse.

Then, suddenly, the door to the antique shop flings open. Startled, I look up just in time to see a blur of red and brown pass by — Minori.

Soon after, Klaus rushes out of the shop. He slams the door behind him and shouts Minori's name twice — once in a questioning manner, the second at the top of his lungs.

Then we both spot her, sprinting back toward the eastern part of town. Klaus dashes after her, and it takes me a few seconds to get past my shock before I can follow at his heels.

Klaus has longer legs than Minori, but she's fast — fast enough to put his height to the test. She's full out sprinting across town, ignoring the questions of passerby's and friends alike. Klaus rushes after her, calling her name all the while, but she either doesn't hear him or doesn't bother to respond.

That's when we hit the Trade Depot — and a lot of things happen at once.  
I've caught up to Minori at this point (I mean, after all, humans can't outrun horses). She stumbles in her footing, and I wish I had hands to catch her but instead I have to watch helplessly as she falls to her hands and knees on the road. Klaus calls her name again — once, and then, he calls again, but —

— but there's _fear_ in his voice, now.

I hear the cart before I see it. Minori doesn't notice; she's too caught up in her emotions — and, jeez, leave it to Klaus to do something wrong _on the anniversary of Eda's death_ —

But anyway, the cart. It's going at full speed. I neigh as loud as I can, but to no avail. Minori hears nothing. I'm about to step in front of the cart so it hits me instead of her, but —

Klaus beats me to the punch. At the very last possible second, he seems to engulf Minori in his arms. A blur of evergreen and red, and then they're both tumbling backwards onto the cobblestone — just out of harm's way.

Breathless moments pass. The cart driver gets out to apologize, but Klaus's response is empty and borderline dismissive. The driver gets the message and is quickly on her way —

— and then it's just Minori and Klaus. And me, but I'm a horse.

Minori tears herself from Klaus's embrace, and I can see the _pained_ expression rip across his features as she does so. She stumbles away from him, the tears still streaming down her cheeks in thin rivulets tainted black by her mascara.

Klaus reaches out to her again, trying to calm her down with his touch, but it's a bad move. Minori _flinches_ away, and I realize, suddenly, that something is very, very wrong.

Never before in my life have I wished so desperately that I could understand english so that she could tell me what was wrong and I could somehow help.

They've fought before, of course — usually about small things, but once or twice they've gotten in a real spat. But this is different. The previous fights were usually fixed by a gentle touch or a kind gesture. Minori's reaction says that this is different.

Klaus must realize this, too, because he immediately retracts his hand and utters a helpless apology. Minori shakes her head, as if forgiving him, but she still turns away to face the other direction.

Klaus asks her what's wrong. I know from the tone of his voice; the way it sounds like he's desperate for an answer. She doesn't respond. Instead, she wraps her arms around her waist and says something in a feeble whimper. My heart breaks for her.

A long beat passes, and Klaus takes another step toward her, his hand outstretched. He says her name again. The tension in the air is suffocating.

But she just shakes her head, and then, before he can even touch her again, she barks out a command. Once, and he says nothing — and then again, she says the same word in that sharp tone, but her voice cracks.

Klaus doesn't obey whatever she's asking him to do. I can _see_ the love in his eyes, clear as diamonds, even though it's mixed with utter confusion.

Minori starts walking — to where, I have no idea. I trot up to her and nudge her shoulder with my nose —

And then, with more anger than I've ever seen from her, she shoves me away, shouting. I can understand one of the words:

Home.

It's familiar. It means the farm. But she usually only uses it in a gentle or a tired way, when the sun has gone down and we get to ride back to the barn together.

Now, the single syllable is filled with malice, and I can't help but wonder what sort of pain she's been hiding in her chest to suddenly explode like this.

So I submit, bowing my head as she walks away from Klaus. Away from me.

She leaves the two of us alone in the dirtied snow — man and horse, both turned to lost sheep at the hands of love's betrayal.


	9. Chapter 9

_(Part 9/10. This got quite long, so, yes, there will be a part 10. Sorry. Or maybe not sorry, 'cause, like, reading is good for you and writing is good for me. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Minori doesn't come home.

After she leaves me and Klaus alone at the Trade Depot, it takes a while for the world to start turning again. I'm torn between trying to find out where's she's going and staying with Klaus, because, at it turns out, Klaus does not handle her departure very well.

He just sort of stands there for a while, watching the spot where she turns the corner into town — and then, suddenly, he sinks to the ground and puts his head in his hands.

It suddenly occurs to me that he _caused_ this. Anger flares up in my belly, and I trot over to him to give him a piece of my mind —

— until he lifts his head and I realize that his eyes are filled with tears.

 _Ugh_. Well, there goes my plan to give him a firm reprimanding. I turn to mush at the sight of crying men.

Besides, if he's crying, it means that he's either really repentant or really confused, or at least worth pitying — so maybe he's not as much at fault as I thought. Maybe Minori overreacted to whatever she saw in Mistel's shop because she was already emotionally screwed up today.

Klaus just looks at me, completely forlorn. I snort. He nods, and puts his hand up to rub my nose, sniffling.

He stands a few minutes later and starts dragging himself back to town, hands in his pockets and looking the oldest I've ever seen him. I figure we're in this together so I walk up next to him, but he uses his hand to gently push against me — a kinder way to say "go away" than how Minori did, but still definitely a dismissal.

 _Well_. I stop dead in my tracks and watch as he walks away, feeling discontent rumble in my stomach again.

But the cold air eventually starts nipping at my nose and my eyes and my knees, so I follow suit and make my way back toward the farm.

I can't help but think of last winter on the way there. Does Minori have an issue with winter? Snow? Is that why she's so worked up? It can't _just_ be Eda, can it?

I've never felt so terribly confused in my life, and it's incredibly infuriating. Lutz, the little kid that loves animals so much, tries saying hello to me on the way home, but I completely ignore him because I'm so upset.

Maybe someone else in Minori's life died during the winter? Maybe something else really bad, besides Eda, is associated with it? Maybe she just really hates snow? Or maybe —

Well, I'll never know, will I? And that's the problem with loving someone — it doesn't matter whether you speak their language or not; you'll still never understand the things they go through because you're not the one going through them. You can only hope to be there when it's important to be there.

But that brings with it the problem of when the people you love push you away and you're just trying to help. It doesn't make any sense. Why would she do that to Klaus? To me? When we just want to help, to try and understand what's wrong?

I pause when I reach the base of the mountain near Minori's farm. A memory bobs up to the surface of my mind — or, maybe not a memory, but a _feeling:_ a longing for freedom.

How easy it would be to just run, like I wanted to two springs ago. How simple it would be to shut everyone out and refuse to love someone at the risk of getting hurt, or being pushed away. Freedom is easy — being tied down, that takes dedication.

But it brings peace. And I think Klaus found that peace when he found Minori, just like I did.

I reach the farm. One confused look from Hanako, who's still out in the pasture, tells me that Minori hasn't returned yet. I shake my mane out of my eyes, figuring that she's probably taking some time to cool off and she'll be back later with some apples for us.

But she doesn't come home.

I pace in front of the farm entrance for an hour, and then two, waiting to see her little red kerchief bob up and down as she walks up the path to the farm, but it doesn't come.

Once the sun sets, I start to get nervous. After all, winter nights get cold, and I have no way of knowing where she is.

So, I do what any friend would do and start to look for her. Hanako gives me a little nod of encouragement before I go, and then I've jumped over the fence and am headed toward the public fields.

Minori owns the fields for growing spices, trees, root crops, and wheat. I start with the spice and tree field (the orchard is her favorite — she and Klaus always take walks there when it's nice outside), but there's no sign of her.

Meanwhile, the air gets colder. I can see my breath when I snort. No one else is on the dirt paths, not even the villagers who sometimes take evening walks.  
Then it hits me. I'm looking in the wrong places. Minori wouldn't go to the fields to cool down — she would go to the waterfall.

Sure, it's the location of a lot of her and Klaus's dates, but she goes there by herself (well, with me) whenever she wants to relax in general. I duck under a couple of tree branches between the root and leafy fields, and there it is: the path that we've made after countless trips there.

And, to my delight, the snow reveals small footprints that definitely look like they could be Minori's. In fact, none of the other villagers know about this place (at least to my knowledge), so they have to be hers.

I tread the path with newfound determination, even though the snow starts falling in earnest as I get deeper into the woods.

This determination evaporates when a hint of dark green catches my eye.

Hanging from one of the trees is Minori's scarf. I know, not just by sight, but because it reeks of her grass-and-perfume scent. A few feet away, at the base of another tree, is an oversized winter coat that's been lightly dusted in snow.

I take a step back, confused — and then very, _very_ worried. It's _freezing_ outside. Why would Minori take off her coat and scarf? And why would she just leave them here?

I wonder if maybe she didn't go all the way to the waterfall. Maybe she decided to take a walk in the woods?

I decide to take a hundred or so steps away from the scarf-and-coat spot and see if I can find any other signs of her. If not, I'll keep heading toward the waterfall.

It ends up taking a lot less time than I think it will. I only get through about ten or so paces before I see a splotch of red that I had _completely_ missed while being so preoccupied with the scarf and coat.

I neigh, and run toward the red — but something is very wrong.

It's Minori, yes — but she's sprawled out in the ground, her face half-buried in the snow and her skin looking very pale.

I slow down as I approach, and then, gingerly nudge her shoulder with my nose. She doesn't move. I give her a long sniff. Still no response.

My body goes cold, colder than the snow could ever make it.

I swing my head around, wondering what possibly could have happened so that she's knocked out like this, and then I see it: a tree that's been hacked to pieces, and an axe laying in the snow not far off.

She was chopping down trees — probably to get out some anger. Isn't that just like her?

It would also be just like her to ignore the fact that she was getting tired and then pass out in the snow from exhaustion — which, considering the fact that it's getting to be about zero degrees outside, is really, really dangerous.

I go through my options. I'm pretty dexterous for a horse, but there's no way I could somehow get her onto my back without help from someone with opposable thumbs. Either she has to wake up on her own (which, judging by the state she's in, doesn't look like it's happening soon), or I have to find help — which is going to be hard, considering the fact that it's late on a freezing winter night and I don't have the convenient ability to go around pounding on people's doors.

But it's my only option. Before leaving, I run back to Klaus's coat, pull it out of the snow with my teeth, and then lay it on top of Minori, hoping that it at least provides some warmth.

Running to town gives me time to make a plan. At this time of night, my best options are the places where there are a lot of people: the Trade Depot, the Town Hall, and Raeger's restaurant. If there aren't people there, I'll have to get more creative.

The trip also gives me time to get incredibly nervous. This town lost a life last winter. I can't – won't – let that become a tradition.

My breath is coming in harsh puffs by the time I get to town. I still haven't seen a single soul on the paths, which means nothing good. Still, I trudge on ahead into town and toward my first stop: the Town Hall.

Thankfully, as soon as I turn the corner, I see a man. I don't recognize him, but that doesn't matter. The important part is getting noticed.

So I run straight up to him and start neighing as loudly as I possibly can. I also rear up on my two back legs — this scares him, but it works.

He starts shouting, trying to get me to calm down. He doesn't look like he knows much about animals. He smells like distant spices and roses, not grass or hay.

Anyway, he moves his hands to my flank, but I push away, just neighing louder. He shouts at the top of his voice again, this time with his head turned toward the Town Hall, which is just ten feet away.

A few moments pass, and then the door to the building swings open and out steps Marian, the town doctor. He takes one look at me and the man and then rushes up to us, encouraging the man to back away.

I calm down a little, glad that I at least have people's attention. Marian places a hand on my flank, and then his eyes light up with recognition. He knows who I am — or, at least, who I belong to.

The other man, the stranger, says a few short, angry sentences to Marian, who doesn't seem to be paying much attention. He's deep in thought, but then his face lights up and he starts running in the opposite direction — toward the restaurant.

Before I can even feel betrayed, another person steps out of the Town Hall. Even in the dim light, I can tell it's Veronica because of the way she carries herself — dignified, but with just the slightest hunch that suggests constant exhaustion.

I start neighing again, and Veronica asks the man what's going on. Across the way, Marian has dashed inside the restaurant, leaving the door open on his way in.

Veronica puts a hand up to my nose, letting me smell her. She smells like soap — lavender-scented (Klaus must have some sort of business), but I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about Minori, and how I wish that I could just tell these people what's wrong —

But before I can further inwardly lament my inability to communicate, Marian rushes out of the restaurant with another person at his heels:

 _Klaus_.

A wave of relief washes over me. Klaus will know. Klaus will understand.  
His eyes are no less red than they were a few hours before. There isn't the same franticness in his step as there is in Marian's — in fact, he seems sort of lethargic and disinterested. He reminds me of a lost puppy.

But then he sees me, and his whole demeanor changes — first to confusion, and then to concern as he takes in my behavior.

He turns to Marian and says something over my incessant neighing — I hear Minori's name — and then he looks at me again.

I snort loudly, nudging him with my nose, nipping at his coat collar, _pleading_ him without words to _come with me_.

And — I don't know if it's providence or a miracle or what — he understands.

 _Minori,_ he breathes, and —

— and everyone falls silent at the weight of his voice. It's so filled with love and terror that no one knows how to respond.

Without another moment wasted, he steps around to my side, grounds a foot in one of the stirrups, and hoists himself up into the saddle. Marian says a few words of warning, and then Klaus tells him something in a commanding voice. Marian nods, and starts back toward the Town Hall — to do what, I haven't the faintest idea. I just hope Marian's awake when we get back, because I have a horrible feeling we're going to need him.

Klaus kicks his feet into my sides, and we're off.

I don't even bother giving him any warning — I lunge straight into a gallop. Klaus apparently doesn't need any warning, though, because he naturally leans forward into my steps.

As we race together toward the waterfall area, I can't help but notice the minute differences between his posture and Minori's. His balance is different, more centered and stable. His grip on the reins is certain — unlike Minori's, who is much more relaxed when she rides, hence why she still sometimes nearly takes a tumble to the ground.

Klaus starts to recognize where we're headed once the root field comes into view. I duck under the branches blocking the path and he ducks with me; I slow down in order to avoid hidden tree roots but his breath only comes faster.

I sniff the ground, desperately hoping that Minori didn't wake up and start trying to find her way back on her own. Her scarf, which still hangs from the tree, comes into view. Klaus tugs me to a stop and practically jumps off of my back when he sees the scarf.

He tugs it from the branch and holds it in his hands, looking at it with wide eyes. I neigh, catching his attention, and start trotting west — where I see, to my morbid relief, that Minori is still half-buried in the snow.

Klaus walks toward us at first, but when he sees Minori he scrambles over the tree roots and stones like someone half his age would. He's kneeling at her side in a heartbeat, his hands fluttering helplessly by her head and her legs before he finally grabs her wrist and checks for a pulse.

I'm briefly transported to this past spring, when Minori faked falling off of me to get Klaus's attention. His reaction had been similar to this — only that was fake, and this is real.

I hear Klaus let out a breath of relief, which must mean that Minori still has a pulse. Slowly, he turns her head so that it isn't so masked by the snow, dusts the white flakes from her cheeks, and leans down to place a tender kiss on her forehead.

Then, without another moment wasted, he puts one arm under her knees and the other arm under her back and lifts her up, using his chest to support her lolling head. Standing, he starts making his way back over to me.

Now we're at a crossroads. I know I can carry both of them. I'm strong enough. It's just a question of how.

With as much care as a brain surgeon, Klaus positions Minori closer to the front of the saddle so that her chest rests briefly on my neck — but Klaus's hand never leaves her back, even as he mounts.

Once they're both on the saddle, Klaus wraps one arm around Minori's waist, as strong and secure an iron bar, and shifts her weight so that she's leaning against his chest. Then, taking both reins in one hand, he squeezes his legs around my stomach.

I start back through the woods, taking care to make the ride as gentle as possible. Klaus is really tense — I can feel it through his legs, and can only imagine how scared and protective he must be at the moment. I can't say I blame him. We've managed to find Minori, but the night isn't over yet.

So I make my way back to town as fast as we can manage without the two of them falling to the ground. We ride in utter silence, with no sound but the howling wind.

Finally, the lights on the cobblestone bridge come into view. I'm _freezing_ , and _worried_ , and at one point it even occurs to me that none of the other animals back at the farm know what has happened, but we make it to town and that's all that matters.

Klaus, using the reins for the first time in the journey, directs me back toward the Town Hall — or, specifically, Marian's clinic. The door is already open, with Marian, Veronica, Angela, and even Raeger waiting for us.

As soon as Klaus pulls me to a stop, they swamp us. Marian and Raeger carry Minori into the building. Veronica and Angela already have a mug of some warm drink prepared for Klaus, which they hand to him as soon as he dismounts.

He looks like he's about to follow them into the building, but just before he does, he turns and looks at me.

I don't think I've ever felt more connected to a human being than in that moment. Our eyes connect and I see endless gratitude from him — and, for perhaps the first time that evening, I'm not wishing that I could speak english, because words do neither his feelings nor mine justice.

I duck my head and he rubs my nose. He murmurs something — and I don't have to know the words to know he's thanking me.

And then he follows Angela and Veronica inside, attempting to answer their questions between gulps of warm tea.

The door closes behind them, swallowing the last bit of light, and I am left alone — wondering, hoping beyond hope, that Minori will be okay.


	10. Chapter 10

_(Part 10/10. This is probably THE MOST saccharine thing I've ever written in my life, but it was fun and I enjoyed myself. Hopefully you've all enjoyed yourselves, too. Thanks so much for reading! Also you get a fast update because I have sketchy internet the next couple days, so yeah. :))_

* * *

 _Epilogue_

I don't think I'll ever understand humans.

I don't think humans will ever fully understand each other, either. We're all kind of disconnected — but every so often, you meet the right person, or horse, and the walls between people crumble just a bit.

Minori heals. Slowly, the constant shiver that she develops leaves her body, filtered out by Spring sunshine and warm breezes.

But she heals in another way, too — her spirit, which was previously folded in on itself, suddenly becomes free again.

I'll never know what caused her explosion of anger and sadness that Winter day, but sometimes I see her swallowing something out of a small orange capsule — which makes me think it wasn't _just_ that day. Minori was hiding a secret from all of us — and when I remember how lonely she was and how she spontaneously cried a lot when we first met, and how _sad_ she was the entirety of last winter, I realize that maybe she wasn't hiding her damaged spirit so much as I refused to _see_.

Klaus, of course, always served as her drug — hence why I didn't see her cry as much the past three seasons — but I guess that sometimes even love isn't enough to change someone's chemical makeup. That's why she needs the medicine. I drop her off at Marian's at least twice every season for a formal checkup, and it does wonders.

Something else good happens, besides her healing body and spirit: a gap between Klaus and Minori closes.

I never noticed the gap — not until it ceases to exist. I think it spawned from Klaus's insecurities about their age differences. If I had to bet, I'd say he assumed that Minori was too innocent for him.

But once he learns that she harbors her own insecurities, everything changes. He sees her as an equal, not just as a girlfriend or someone to goof around with or someone to talk to but a partner, and a partner in all things — even the hard stuff. He starts sharing his own problems with her instead of trying to handle all of hers. It's a rift that I didn't even know existed until it's suddenly resolved. The way he _looks_ at her sometimes, it's —

— it's overwhelming.

So, good stuff. I still don't really know exactly what happened that day, or why, or how — I can only assume. Sometimes that's all we can do. But the rough spot only pushes Klaus and Minori closer — and, in a way, it helps me become closer to them, too.

Their love continues to thrive and grow and spread joy throughout the entire town —

— until one fateful Summer day, about two seasons after the incident, it blossoms.

Klaus comes by in the late afternoon, right at the end of Minori's list of chores. I'm standing out in the field with Hanako and the other animals, dozing under the shade of our favorite oak tree, when I see him coming up the path.

He isn't wearing the evergreen coat — and I don't blame him, because it's sweltering. Instead, he's dressed in a white button down shirt and black pants. Still dressy — this _is_ Klaus we're talking about — but in a nice way. (The kind of "nice way" that I know makes Minori all smitten, like she's looking at a puppy instead of a grown man.)

I watch him trek across the field. He walks through the grass, his footsteps silent, so as not to alert Minori — who, at the moment, is tending to the peach trees she planted at the very beginning of last spring.

She doesn't notice Klaus's approach, too engulfed in the task at hand — which happens to be attempting to grab the last ripe peach from the tree. Minori definitely wasn't made to pick fruit; she's far too short, and the last peach is too high up for her to reach.

So, Klaus, being the dapper gentleman he is at a whopping six feet in height (at least), reaches up and grabs the peach for her.

Minori yelps in surprise when his hand comes into view, and she stumbles backwards — straight into Klaus's chest.

He only laughs, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. Then he hands her the sun-pink peach and takes a step back so that she isn't so confined.

Minori takes the peach, and then, after a moment's decision, takes a big, juicy bite out of it.

This causes Klaus to laugh again, and soon after I can hear giggles from Minori, too.

Can't say I blame her. It's a pretty good looking peach.

They sit under the tree for a while, Minori eating her peach and Klaus talking. From the hand gestures and Minori's occasional giggles, I think it's a story. He glances at her fondly every so often —

— but I also catch a glimpse of something _different_ in his disposition today; something odd that shines through every few moments when the silence lasts too long. He runs his hand through his hair a few more times than what's considered "normal."

But Minori finishes her peach and casts the pit aside. If she notices his strangeness, she doesn't say or do anything. Klaus helps her to stand, and then she bends down to grab the basket filled with the peaches she was picking before he arrived.

He takes that from her, though, instead saying a few things in a brisk voice. Minori's eyes light up and she nods, running in the opposite direction of the winery — toward her farmhouse. She catches my eye on the way and winks; I just snort at her, too hot and sweaty to tease her any further.

Klaus heads toward the winery with the basket of peaches. He knows his way around the farm well enough now to help Minori out with a lot of her chores, which has made me admire him all the more fondly.

Minori takes long enough in the house that Klaus can finish whatever goes on with the fruit in the winery and come back outside. He starts making his way toward the house — and then, mid-step, apparently changes his mind and heads toward the field instead.

I know he's coming to talk to me before he's even twenty feet away. He sometimes does, ever since we grew closer, in a way, after the incident. It usually happens when we're both waiting on Minori.

He stops at the fence and reaches a hand over to stroke my nose. I lean into his touch, appreciative of the gesture — only to realize that his hand is shaking.

I snort in surprise, reeling backwards. Klaus only chuckles, and then shoves both hands in his pockets, a bit embarrassed.

Shaky hands. Shaky hands? Is he alright?

Well, he does look a little pale. And he keeps licking his lips, and running his hand through his hair (in fact it's really quite messy at this point) —

But before I can think much more, he starts talking. Not that I understand much of it, but I do catch Minori's name here and there. She must have something to do with it, then.

That's when it strikes me. The shaking hands, his paleness, the odd lapses of silence —

He's _nervous_.

The door to the farmhouse opens and Minori walks out. Within a half hour, she has changed out of her farm clothes and into a very becoming light blue sundress, complete with a pearl necklace that glistens where it touches her collarbone. Her hair has been brushed, curled, and she's also wearing that touch of makeup that lets me know that she and Klaus are going on a date.

Klaus's breath catches. It's a subtle thing, but I hear it plain as day. I nudge his shoulder with my nose, pushing him forward to meet her.

Minori smiles as he approaches, adjusting the little white purse at her hip with a delicateness that I don't often see — because farming isn't exactly a delicate job. But it's moments like these that remind me of her natural elegance and sweetness, something that I think working with living, breathing nature everyday has helped her to develop.

And _man_ , does it affect Klaus. He becomes a stuttering mess — and Minori notices. She giggles, touching his face gently and placing a light kiss on his pink-tinted cheek.

Klaus finally pulls it together, and places a hand on the small of Minori's back to start guiding her toward the field. There, he gives a grand gesture toward me with both arms and a slight bow. Minori smiles, but I snort. Great. Once again, I'm playing chaperone.

Minori mounts, and I start wondering where Blossom is for Klaus until he suddenly puts one foot in the stirrup.

Before I know it, Klaus is up on my back behind Minori. This seems to surprise her, too, since the last time they both rode on my back at the same time was — well, was when she was passed out and Klaus had to put her there himself.

But they adjust so that they're comfortable, with Minori closer to my neck and Klaus behind. His arms are wrapped around her waist and he holds the reins — after all, he's the one who knows where we're going. With my neck turned just right, I can see him tuck his head into her neck and kiss her, a fluttering thing that makes her legs tense up with surprise, and then they relax as she lets out a sigh.

I let out an impatient snort. Laughing, Minori gives me a quick pat on the neck. Klaus gives the single and we're off. I carefully step through the open gate, which Minori then closes with her foot on the way out.

I have an inkling where we're going, but Klaus guides me anyway. They don't talk much, just the occasional comment, probably about how warm it is. We pass the root field and Klaus tugs the reins toward the forest. All of us simultaneously duck when we get to the little break in the branches, though Klaus doesn't escape a stray leaf that catches in his hair.

I start slowing down when we come up toward the waterfall — and that's when I see Blossom, Klaus's horse, grazing contently near the river. About ten feet away from her is a basket and a blanket.

Ah. They're having another picnic.

The first one of this summer, I realize. Picnics are Klaus and Minori's favorite kind of date, but Minori's been so busy with the trees this summer that they haven't had time for a real one yet.

Klaus pulls me to a stop near Blossom, and I can tell from Minori's excited babbling that this picnic is a surprise to her. Klaus only laughs as she digs through the food basket and lets out an ecstatic squeak when she finds strawberry cheesecake — her favorite dessert.

I settle into a nice square of grass as Klaus and Minori start getting the food all organized. Minori is babbling again — probably about the fact that Klaus prepared everything by himself and he should have asked her for help. But something tells me that he's treating Minori to this date, and that it's been a day planned out for her all along.

Enough time passes that the sky starts to darken. I think this is the longest they've ever stayed out for a picnic — though, after the food is gone, they spend a lot of time kissing and talking, which is what they would do inside, anyway. By the time the fireflies start to appear, the air is a little chillier, but not uncomfortably so. After all, it's mid-summer, so the coldest it could get is nothing compared to what it'll be a few months from now.

At this point, Minori is curled up in Klaus's lap. They're still sitting on that picnic blanket, though they did get up for a walk about an hour or so ago. They spent most of the afternoon talking, but now there's only a tender, heavy silence. I watch in the dim light as Klaus places a deliberate kiss on Minori's neck — and then he traces her jaw, each kiss warmer than the last.

Minori, distracted from her thoughts by his affection, breaks the silence with a soft giggle, and turns her head so that they're making eye contact — also breaking the chain of kisses. She says something to him in a teasing voice, but he interrupts her with another kiss — this time on her lips.

He seems more calm than he was a few hours ago, which only has me wondering what he was so worked up about in the first place. If anything, he's kissing Minori with confidence. It's always in these moments, where he takes the lead and starts thoroughly displaying his love for this girl, that he seems both his happiest and his most youthful.

He says Minori's name — a gentle, heart-wrenching utterance; a benediction as it falls from his lips.

She freezes, caught off-guard by his raw emotion.

He shifts her so that he can talk to her comfortably without her craning her neck. Their foreheads touch, but the games are over, now.

Klaus has something to say, and he wastes no time — the next few sentences come out like a babbling river. His words are choppy; they come in short bursts, as if he rehearsed some of them — but between those rehearsed bits, his emotions bleed out and transform it into a beautiful confession.

Then, with still hands — he's not nervous anymore —

— Klaus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blue feather.

Minori's eyes go wide with surprise.

And I don't blame her, because I always expected Klaus to at least follow the down-on-one-knee rule, but here we are.

My heart floods with joy for them, and I can't help it — I let out a neigh of delight.

Minori's head snaps up to look at me, and she laughs — and laughs, and laughs, until she's crying, and finally I hear the word yes slip out from her lips, followed by more laughter and what I think are happy tears.

Then, just in that moment — fireworks.

And I mean that literally, as in fireworks start going off in the distance, big beams of green and gold appearing over the tops of the trees. I can see both Minori and Klaus's facial expressions as clear as day, only they're tinted with the fireworks' hues. I've seen fireworks before, and I know that they did this last summer, too. Good planning on Klaus's part, then.

And so there we remain: two horses and two lovers, tearing down the walls between living creatures brick by brick; kindness by kindness; feather by feather — until no walls remain.

Klaus and Minori are not whole people. They have been broken and stitched together again by life's adversities — adversities that I don't _know_ , but that I can _see_ , etched in the lines when Klaus's brow creases; apparent in the dullness of Minori's eyes on her bad days.

But Klaus and Minori repair one another. They repair others, like me and Eda and all of the townspeople, too.

And that's how it works: we can never _know_ what ails a person, but we can _try_ to know — and in our endeavor to understand, we tear down walls, replacing them with foundations built upon trust, and love, and all that good stuff that I never really knew about until Minori revealed it to me.

We all start as restless, tired spirits — and we find freedom in love.

* * *

 _FIN._


End file.
